Я люблю Вас
by wolfgirl16
Summary: .:Complete:. "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker
1. Inconceivable

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

**WARNING:** There is male/male in this story, meaning a dude liking another dude! If you have any problems with that, stop reading now and do not flame because I just told you there's dude/dude in this so, dude, you just can't do that!

Also, I must warn you of some highly probable OOC-ness. If that also bothers you, bye bye now. :3

Now that you've been warned, please enjoy the fanfic.

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Chapter 1: Inconceivable

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A soft, yet frustrated sigh broke through the silence that permeated the office, empty of anything living other than the plant barely clinging to life in the window and the blond man absentmindedly going through the belongings of the office's owner.

"Comrade."

Wesker could sense the displeasure in the word and he could only guess that the man behind him had a look of much disdain on his face.

"Yes, Sergei?" He asked nonchalantly, not bothering to put down the small pocketknife he had just picked off of the desk. He pretended as if Sergei weren't there and flipped it open, seeing what sort of extra gadgets the little object had to offer; a blade, a nail file, a can opener, and even a little detachable piece to sharpen the blade. Not bad.

"I believe that is _my_ desk you're sifting through. It's rude to go through other people's things, _comrade_." Sergei had put a special emphasis on the final word simply to make the other man annoyed and was delighted to see Wesker cringe almost unnoticeably. He knew it irked the blond to no end to call him comrade when they were, by no means, on the same ground. He was Wesker's superior, and that was that.

"It's also rude to humiliate people in front of their coworkers." Wesker retorted, his voice hinting slight venom.

"Comrade, you must understand," Sergei sauntered over to Wesker's side, who turned his head away from him. "You were defying me in front of them. Whether you like it or not, I'm your superior and if you do not do as I say, there are..." He fingered the knife hanging from his belt. "Consequences...I had no choice but to correct you."

Frowning, Wesker ran his hand gingerly over his bruised cheek. "Sergei, I am not a dog. You are my superior, yes, but not my master. Do not hit me ever again. Or at least refrain from doing so in front of an audience."

"If you don't wish to be beaten in front of other people, then don't act out again in front of other people. Sounds logical enough, don't you agree?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he changed the subject. "Now...may I ask why you are in my office, going through my things?"

"I was waiting for you to come back."

A small smirk formed on Sergei's features. "Oh, really now? Did you like what you got earlier and want more?" He chuckled smugly.

Teeth bared slightly in irritation, the blond turned to the heavily-accented man. "I wanted to give you a piece of my mind."

Sergei's expression of arrogance had dropped once Wesker had turned to face him. Wesker was puzzled by this, wondering if the bruise he had yet to see painted on his face was truly so bad that his superior's smug look fell straight to the floor. This was, indeed, correct. While Sergei had fully meant to show Wesker who was in charge, he never meant to leave a mark, especially not one as nasty as the purplish discoloration on the blond's face.

Wesker's eyes snapped open a little wider behind his dark sunglasses as he felt a hand that was not his own brushing his abused cheek. For a brief moment, he almost forgot to breath, completely taken aback by the unexpected act of...what was it, even? Affection? Or some sort of dirty trick?

"Sergei...What are you...?" He trailed off, surprised at himself for being so speechless. Nothing was capable of doing that; nothing. So he thought.

"Comrade, I apologize. I had no intention of bruising you."

"Of course you didn't." Wesker said with subtle sarcasm, wanting to move away, but he didn't. He stayed right where he was, allowing the Russian to glide his calloused fingers over his cheek. Try as he might, he couldn't deny the fact that the minute action felt good. To him, it seemed very strange that a man such as Sergei - who only lived for battle and the various pains that came with it - was being so gentle at the moment, especially when he was the one who had slugged Wesker not too long ago. And now...he was treating him like he were the most delicate of fine china.

Sergei's fingers continued their ministrations, his good eye flicking up to view Wesker's despite the fact his sunglasses were hiding them from his gaze.

"Я люблю Вас..." The ex-colonel uttered quietly, eye fixing itself back on the bruise.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, um..." Clearly, Sergei hadn't realized he'd said his thoughts aloud. "I said, 'Я люблю Вас.'"

A golden eyebrow cocked up. "What does that mean?"

There was the briefest hesitation before Sergei simply sighed and confessed, "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much."

Wesker didn't buy the explanation, suspecting there was much more to it than Sergei let on, but he easily masked his doubt. The blond couldn't help the snicker he let out. "You like me, Sergei? You have a very comical way of showing it."

The Russian then removed his hand from Wesker's cheek and let it drop to his side, letting a small frown onto his face. Wesker, too, frowned, but from the lack of contact. He cheek felt cold now, and wanted the pleasing feeling of fingers ghosting over his discolored skin to return.

"Don't get me wrong. I simply mean in a platonic way." Sergei explained. "As you were saying before, you wanted to give me a piece of your mind?"

"I..." He didn't even want to now. He had wanted to tell his superior off and, if it led to it, even get physical. It seemed things did get physical, just not the way Wesker had mentally prepped himself for. As out of character as it appeared for Wesker to just let go of his calm, collected persona, it just seemed to occur naturally around Sergei.

"Yes?"

Wesker glowered at him. "Don't do it again."

With all said and done, he left the office, leaving behind a highly bemused Sergei. The Russian had watched with a smirk as the shorter man oh too quickly left. Shaking his head, he sat at his desk to get some work done, feeling rather good about himself for completely overwhelming his subordinate in such a manner.

Leaning on the other side of the door, both cheeks tainted a soft crimson color, Wesker exhaled shakily, hovering his fingers over the bruise much like Sergei had, yet the feeling was entirely different. Not as...pleasing as when Sergei's digits were doing the dancing upon his tenderized flesh.

_'Why am I acting in such a way?' _He questioned himself, running a hand through his slicked locks. _'I'm like some sort of infatuated schoolgirl...Infatuated? I couldn't possibly have an infatuation with THAT man.'_ He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts of him actually being...infatuated...with the likes of Sergei Vladimir. The mere idea was utterly-

_'Inconceivable.'_

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Why might I have written something like this? It's simple and can easily be explained using math. Observe.

Leon + Krauser = Yes

Krauser = Sergei because they say, "Comrade," and Leon = Wesker because they are on the receiving end...of being called, "Comrade," I mean!

Therefore Wesker + Sergei = Yes

Also, there are virtually no Wesker/Sergei stories and as a Wesker/Sergei fan, I HAD to do something about it for the rest of the Wesker/Sergei community. Unless...I'm the only one! O.o

Please leave a nice review!


	2. Under The Umbrella

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: 'It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much.' Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 2: Under The Umbrella

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The minuscule gelatinous forms of cells wiggled and danced under the microscope, their pallor of a greenish hue that made Wesker think vaguely of gelatin.

"How does it look, sir?" The young scientist by his side inquired, sounding nervous. Classic characteristic of a new employee.

"Hmm..." Wesker pulled away from the microscope to jot down some notes on the clipboard he held relating to the specimen on the slide, humming and nodding his head every now and then. "Everything seems to be going well." He handed the clipboard over to the younger scientist. "Let it sit overnight in the cooler and it should be ready for the canine specimen tomorrow."

The young scientist nodded, scanning over the notes. "Yes, sir. Thank you. Good night."

"Yes, you too." Wesker stretched and cracked his neck as he left the laboratory, stifling a yawn. Fourth late night in a row, but it was nothing he couldn't manage.

"It's about time you came out of that God forsaken lab, comrade."

The customary frown found its place upon Wesker's features as he stared at the owner of the voice currently leaning against the wall opposite of him with his arms crossed and the sole of his boot pressed against the wall.

Wesker eyed the Russian questioningly. "Why are you still here? I figured you had left hours ago."

Sergei shrugged. "It's a free country. I may stay or go if I please."

"Right. Now, what's your real agenda?"

"If you must know..." Sergei fished around in his coat pocket shortly before withdrawing a compact object and offering it to Wesker.

The blond had taken a step back just in case his superior was up to trouble, but he quickly recognized the object as a harmless pocket umbrella. Red and white; how humorous. But why on earth was Sergei giving him an umbrella at such an ungodly hour in the evening?

As though reading his mind, Sergei explained, "It's raining, comrade. It's been raining for quite a while now and it's showing no signs of letting up."

Wesker's eyebrow shot up incredulously. "You stayed long after hours just to give me an umbrella?"

"It's a long walk home, comrade."

Wesker appeared a little surprised at the comment. He didn't think anyone actually took notice of the fact that instead of driving to and from work, he walked. It's not like he didn't have a car. He did; a very nice one generously provided to him by Umbrella, seeing as he was one of their top employees. He simply preferred walking over driving because of the exercise. Even when the clouds were showering the earth with water like it were one whole spherical garden or powdering it with snow like an inverse snowglobe, he trekked to the facility. In most of those cases, however, he would have either a coat or umbrella handy.

"I don't need the umbrella, _thank you_." The shorter man had spat out the last two words before stalking off, slipping out of his pristine lab coat. Sergei hadn't followed, much to his pleasure. At least, it _was_ his pleasure until he recalled the other day's events as he was stowing his belongings in his assigned locker. His sorting of things slowed, the act becoming an absentminded task as he thought back on the ex-colonel stroking his cheek and how...nice it had felt. It almost made him wish Sergei had tailed after him instead of hanging back.

Wesker removed his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose while trying to repress the memory and the feelings that came with it; confusion, irritation, delight. The last one was indefinitely his top priority to rid himself of, yet at the same time, he wanted that feeling to remain with him the most. It just threw his mind into complete chaos and he knew the only way to remedy that was to flat out forget the event ever took place at all.

He glanced up into the small mirror placed in his locker, his eyes skimming over the fading bruise marring his cheek. His digits found place on his cheek and they gingerly brushed the surface of the yellow-brown skin. He'd always been a fast healer, so it came as no surprise to him that the discoloration was vanishing so quickly.

A heavy sigh left his mouth as he replaced his sunglasses and shut his locker.

Sergei hadn't been fibbing when he said it appeared the rain was showing no signs of stopping. It was coming down in torrents and Wesker was beginning to think maybe he should've taken that umbrella in the first place. Maybe it wasn't too late to go back and...

No. He simply wouldn't. Not when _that _memory was fresh in his mind. He would bear with the rain and if he got sick tomorrow, oh well.

He growled as he stepped into the freezing rain, the protective barrier of clothing rapidly becoming soaked and only making him even more miserable. To top it all off, he caught sight of his untied shoe and bent over to tie it back up. As he was finishing his mundane task, the rain had suddenly stopped. No, it hadn't stopped, but it wasn't beating upon him relentlessly anymore. He looked up, discovering a red and white octagon over his head; the umbrella.

"You didn't think I was going to give up so easily, did you?" Sergei's voice easily matched the smirk on his face.

"I should've known..." Wesker sighed as he stood.

"I'll walk you home." He added, "No arguments," when he saw the blond was about to protest.

"Why are you insisting upon this?"

"Here." The Russian, ignoring the question, held the handle of the umbrella awkwardly between his chin and shoulder as he unbuttoned his coat and slipped out of it. He held the garment out to Wesker. "Put this on. I don't want you getting sick."

Wesker observed the green article of clothing guardedly. He only accepted it when Sergei bobbed it up and down impatiently, urging wordlessly for him to just take it and put it on. Wesker donned the coat, relishing in what warmth it provided him with through his drenched clothes.

They went on their way, both men silent, save for the wet slaps their footwear made in the puddles scattered unsystematically across the pavement.

Occasionally, Wesker glanced at Sergei out of the corner of his eye. What was that man up to? Was he trying to make up for the public humiliation he dealt Wesker with just a few days prior? Was it a part of some weird, twisted scheme he had against him? Or...did it have something to do with what he'd said to him before? That odd phrase spoken in Sergei's native tongue which he claimed meant, 'I like you.'

_'Oh, forget it.' _The blond decided. _'I'll contemplate it later. I just want to get home and go to bed...'_ He stifled another yawn with his palm.

"Tired, comrade?"

"A little." Oh, why did he have to live so far away and walk? It was times like these where he really loathed walking home. At the rate things were going, Wesker thought he would never get home soon enough. All he wanted at that moment was to just crawl under his warm covers and rest his weary mind and sore eyes by means of a fitful sleep. Unconsciously, his head tilted over to the side in his drowsiness. He was brought back, however, when he felt an arm wrap itself around his shoulders. He shifted his head so he could look up at Sergei and asked, "Sergei, what are you doing?"

"Keeping you from falling over." The higher-ranking Umbrella employee stated plainly, keeping his gaze locked in front of him.

Wesker's lips tugged downwards, but other than that, he gave no comeback. He chuckled quietly at the situation when he thought about it. Here he was with a man he greatly disliked, and said man was walking him home in the rain with his arm around his shoulders, and he'd even offered his coat to him like a true gentleman. It reminded him of sort of cliché scene from one of those cheesy romance movies that he detested with every fiber of his being.

It also made him recall days long passed; when he was a mere child and all was right in the world. His mother would always come pick him up from school and they walked home together, holding hands while he told her exuberantly about what he learned that day or the fight two fourth graders had during recess or who started the food fight in the cafeteria. It rained a lot in that little town he grew up in and he had absolutely adored it. He would jump into the puddles while still clasping his mother's hand tightly in his own and splash not only himself, but his mother as well. She never got mad at him for it, though. On the contrary, she'd burst out into a fit of giggles and hop in a puddle as well and by the time they arrived home, they would be soaked to the bone, but they would be laughing about it.

Wesker let himself indulge in a small smile at the memory. Oh, how it had been so long ago...

The rest of the trip to Wesker's home was wordless. When they finally did get there, the shorter man couldn't help but let out a deep, relieved sigh. He trudged up the steps to the porch while Sergei stood there, the dripping umbrella branched out over his head.

"Well, um," Wesker sounded unsure of what to say. "Thank you for walking me home."

"My pleasure." Sergei smiled at him. No. No, it couldn't have been a smile, but it really did appear as such to Wesker.

Wesker had begun to take off the coat when Sergei had told him to keep it.

"You can give it back tomorrow." The Russian said.

"I will." He assured.

"Good night, comrade." He turned and left immediately after that.

Wesker took a step forward to get a better look at the slowly dwindling figure of Sergei as he walked away, unable to take his gaze off of the departing form. When the man was nearly out of sight, Wesker said quietly on his breath, "Good night, Sergei," before he turned to head inside.

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I thought it would be cute to add something in from Wesker's childhood. :3 Lol, I can easily picture him as a happy, hyper little boy without a care in the world and a song in his heart. Okay, that sounds a little corny, but whatever.

Now, dear readers, please review. :3


	3. Loss Of Control

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: 'It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much.' Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 3: Loss Of Control

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The morning proved to be much more pleasant than the night before as the sun glowed brightly overhead and the abundance of flowers outside held their petals open to embrace the sun's loving warmth. One such flower met an unfortunate demise under Wesker's foot as he focused his attention on his watch, grumbling curses under his breath as he saw he only had a few more minutes to get to the facility before he was labeled as late.

He rearranged the folded army coat in his arms, trying to keep it neat. Seeing as Sergei had so kindly saw him home and let him use his coat the previous night, Wesker figured it would only be fair of him to return the favor by washing the coat. He hoped Sergei would at least thank him for it because it was absolute hell for him to remove all the various pins and metals from the fabric before shoving it in the washing machine, and twice as much so trying to remember which one went where when he pulled the article of clothing from the dryer.

Wesker managed to arrive at work on time, just barely. He stopped by his locker to retrieve his lab coat before heading over to Sergei's office all the way on the other side of the complex to return his coat. The door was locked and when he knocked on the door, he got no reply. With a sigh, Wesker decided to hunt down the Russian. The sooner he gave back the coat, the better.

His first destination was the cafeteria, though no sign of Sergei was present. He stopped by his office a second time to see if maybe he was there by now, but he was not. He then moseyed over to the gym, wondering why he would even be checking there. What person in their right mind would want to work out first thing in the morning?

There was a lone figure in the gym, bench pressing a rather heavily-weighed down barbell. Grunts of hard endeavor escaped him as he pushed himself to do more, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his bare torso and heaving chest.

Wesker watched Sergei in silent observation, enraptured by the sight. He heatedly denied to himself that he was watching Sergei because he thought he was, for lack of better words, 'hot.' He was simply...fascinated by how much weight the man was working with. Yes, that had to be it.

The blond was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when a loud bang resounded from the barbell. Sergei had let it drop back onto the stand and he sat up, exhaling heavily and wiping his moist brow. Wesker grabbed one of the clean towels folded by the door and tossed it at his superior, who looked puzzled to see a towel land on his lap until he looked up.

Sergei gave him a bit of a smirk. "Thank you, comrade." He wiped the perspiration from his face with the soft towel, letting it rest around his shoulders as he stood up and walked over to the man standing by the door. "What brings you here?"

"This." Wesker held the folded coat out like an offering. "I washed it."

Sergei took the coat and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Ah, so you did. I appreciate it, comrade."

Wesker shrugged. "It was the least I could do." The least he could do? Since when was Albert Wesker a man who was fair? His philosophy had always been if he did someone a favor - something that very rarely occurred anyway - he should have something for him done in return, but if someone did him a favor first, he thought himself too superior to return the favor. That's how it had always been, so why would it be any different now?

"I'm going to shower." The ex-colonel announced, handing Wesker the coat back. "Follow me. I'll give you the key to my office and you can leave my coat there. I don't need to put it on right away after such an exhausting work out."

"I'm not your errand boy." But he followed his superior into the locker room anyway.

"No, you aren't. You are my dog. My bitch, in technical terms." A smirk formed as Sergei clearly pictured the scowl coming from the man behind him. He opened the locker he stored his work attire in and rummaged through the pocket of his trousers until he found his office key. He promptly passed on the small, cold object to Wesker, instructing him to bring the key back when he was done.

"Yes, yes, I understand. It's not like I plan on keeping this." He spun the key on his finger. "I'll be back." He took his leave, nonchalantly spinning the key on his digit while he held the coat in his opposite arm. Strange; Sergei could've just put the coat in his locker, but Wesker shrugged it off.

After discarding the green piece of clothing in the office, Wesker journeyed back to the locker room. The sound of the showers running was only brief before he heard them shut off. He opened up Sergei's locker, momentarily surprised it was even unlocked in the first place, and dropped the key on top of the small knoll of fabric. Sighing, he shut the door and turned around, completely taken aback when he found Sergei now right in his face, his grey hair dripping and his exposed flesh sprinkled with water droplets. He'd hoped he didn't make it obvious Sergei had startled him, but the quiet rumble of a chuckle that came from the taller man was blatant evidence that he'd given himself away.

"Comrade, did I startle you?" He straightened an arm out, resting his hand beside Wesker's head on the lockers. "I apologize."

Flustered, Wesker couldn't think of what to say in rebuttal. God, what was wrong with him? He never acted this way with anyone else, and Sergei just seemed to be making it extremely difficult to act around him like he would any other person.

"You didn't startle me." The blond finally said, though a bit too quickly for it to pass off as genuine. He pressed his back against the lockers to gain some space between him and the dripping, towel-clad figure looming over him.

"Why don't I believe that?" He leaned in closer. "And my, your face is flushed. You aren't getting ill, are you?" In what Wesker could only chalk up to as concern, Sergei took his other hand and first placed the back of his palm on his own forehead and cheeks before giving the same treatment to his subordinate. "You do feel a bit warm..."

"I'm fine." Wesker pushed the hand away, trying to retain whatever dignity he had left. He felt that now he should be leaving, but when he tried, the hand that was just on his face was now placed by his side, trapping him between the chilly lockers and the warm, slick flesh of Sergei. "Let me go."

"And why should I do that, comrade?"

"I...I have work to do. In the lab." The way Wesker had said it sounded like he himself didn't even believe it. Perhaps he didn't. Of course, he really did have stuff to do in the lab, but as of late, it seemed the only thing he was doing was making sure the new scientists on the team weren't fucking things up.

"You can't..." Sergei leaned in some more, close enough for his heated breath to mist upon Wesker's face.

"Why can't I?"

"Because..." His lips were so dangerously close to his subordinate's at that point. "I do not wish to let you go..." He pressed his lips firmly, yet with a subtle gentleness, on Wesker's.

Wesker, while taken off guard by the union of lips, hesitantly returned the gesture. The simple, innocent act did not remain as such for long, the two sets of lips mashing together roughly and their hot, ragged breaths mingling as one. Both were losing themselves in passion and raw lust, forgetting entirely where they were, who they were with, and how wrong and taboo the situation was.

Wesker thrust his body into Sergei's, wrapping his arms around his back and trying futilely to cling to wet skin. In turn - with an animalistic growl - the Russian thrust himself forward, slammng his captive against the lockers and forcing a loud rattle out of them. He wanted more - needed more - of the man he was pressing so roughly against the cold metal and he made that obvious as his kissing turned more hungry, more rabid.

_'This is Sergei Vladimir, you moron!'_ Wesker's mind suddenly screeched at him. _'Sergei fucking VLADIMIR! You shouldn't be enjoying this, or even DOING this, for that matter!'_

The inner voice was right. He needed to leave. Now.

The hands clinging to Sergei's back were immediately removed, meeting in a violent collision with his chest and pushing him away. He nearly toppled over on his ass as Wesker briskly moved past him, exiting the locker room before Sergei even had time to process what had just occurred.

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I will not lie. I was grinning so wide writing the whole kiss thing. :3 Oh, this is just so much fun to write that I can't seem to stop! I also changed the rating from T to M just in case. Ya know, because of the usage of f*** and...well...maybe some very strong M-rated themes will pop up later... ;3

As usual, please review and stay tuned for the next chapter.


	4. Confessions Over Coffee

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: 'It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much.' Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 4: Confessions Over Coffee

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It had been a few days since the incident in the locker room and Wesker hadn't seen hide nor tail of Sergei. He almost thought maybe he wasn't even there until he overheard some of the soldiers from the Umbrella militia complaining about how Sergei bitched at them for not doing their job right. So, obviously, he had to be there. It was clear he was avoiding Wesker just as much as Wesker was avoiding him.

But they couldn't avoid each other forever. They were not parallel lines; they had to cross paths again eventually.

* * *

Wesker sat by himself in a far corner of the desolate cafeteria. It was far too early for many of the other Umbrella staff to be present in the room, so it was no surprise to him that he was alone. He actually preferred it like that. It gave him some space to lose himself in his thoughts.

The styrofoam cup sandwiched between his hands gave off a pleasant warmth from the steaming coffee sitting at rest inside. The warmth was barely noticed as Wesker stared out the window to his right, his brows scrunched together in hard concentration at his inner turmoil.

_'Sergei...kissed me. He kissed me, and I liked it. I REALLY liked it...' _The heat rose to his cheeks as he recalled how easily he went from being a civilized human being to a lust-hungry animal, clinging to Sergei so tightly as the two of them locked lips in a bruising kiss. _'But I shouldn't have liked it so much. That man just...irks me to no end.'_

But did he really? As of late, did Sergei really get on his nerves as much as he used to? No. Though...why would he not? Why would Sergei be adopting a much more pleasant persona around him? As far as Wesker knew, he wasn't doing that with anyone else; just him. The answer should've been as clear as day to him - Sergei wanted him BAD - but he refused to come to that conclusion. Any conclusion but that, as well as the conclusion that he, too, shared those feelings for Sergei.

It was wrong, just completely wrong. They were two people who greatly disliked each other and they were on two very different plateaus in the corporation. To alter any part of that whatsoever would destroy the balance of things, it would throw all of nature into a hellish tumult. Well, that was exaggerating a bit, but the point was he and Sergei were supposed to be refraining from tearing each other apart upon every meeting, not refraining from throwing themselves at each other and losing themselves in pure, feral instinct.

Another person sat down at the table Wesker occupied, taking the seat right across from him. Out of the corner of his eye, Wesker could identify the person as Sergei.

"We need to talk." The Russian said blatantly.

Wesker kept his gaze out the window. "There's nothing to talk about. You went wild on me in the locker room, I responded, and that's all there is to it."

"Yes, but I shouldn't have done it. You were obviously not expecting it."

The blond's head snapped forward so he could stare his superior in the face. "Of course I wasn't expecting it! Who _would_ expect someone with whom there was a mutual disdain to kiss them?"

Sergei's gaze shifted down to his hands clasped together on the table. "Honestly, comrade, I thought it was obvious."

"What was?"

"How I felt."

"Well, THAT was rather obvious considering the way you were pinning me against the lockers. I could easily feel it against me." With a snort, Wesker turned his head back to the window. "I don't care how you feel."

"Alright, I admit, I was a little hot and bothered, but that's not all there is to it. When I told you I liked you, I...wasn't very clear." He stopped to see if Wesker was taking an interest in what he was saying, He was not, so he continued. "'Я люблю Вас' is Russian for, 'I love you.'"

This had regained Wesker's full attention. He stared at Sergei, scanning over him for any sign he was bluffing, his expression unreadable.

"You...love me?" Wesker repeated, earning a nod in reply.

"Yes, that's right. I understand if you think I'm simply..." He thought for the proper English euphemism he wanted to use. "Pulling your leg, or I'm up to something dirty, but I'm really not doing that, comrade. I am being sincere with you, but if you don't feel the same way, I understand."

There was a brief silence before Wesker said questioningly, "Sergei?"

"Yes, comrade?"

"You are a disgusting human being." He turned back to the window. "Get out of my sight right now."

Speechlessly, the ex-colonel watched the other man incredulously. As much as he tried to prepare himself for such an answer, when the harsh words entered his ears, it was still hard to process, like he was expecting Wesker to confess his long, undying love for him and they would happily return to the locker room and pick up where they'd left off before.

Disheartened, Sergei rose from the chair and left the cafeteria just as a small group of workers came in for breakfast.

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Aww, poor Sergei. Wesker's so mean! :( But don't hate Wesker, cuz he's Wesker. Wesker simply can't be hated. XD

I also do apologize for the chapter being kinda on the short side.


	5. Friendly Terms

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 5: Friendly Terms

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Wesker plopped down into his office chair, adjusting the collar of his S.T.A.R.S. uniform. Taking a glance at the other people occupying the office at the moment, he almost felt bad about deceiving them all. Almost. They thought he was Wesker, noble captain of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team and a great guy in general when underneath the mendacious exterior, he was simply Wesker, Umbrella researcher; completely against everything S.T.A.R.S. stood for.

He had arranged his schedule in accordance to when and where he would be needed most. There were some days where he was at work at the Umbrella research facility and others where he would be at the Raccoon Police Department, though an occasional conflict in schedule forced him to call in sick to S.T.A.R.S. or he would simply skip work at the facility. The Umbrella staff would know why he wasn't there; it was all their idea in the first place.

_'Get as much data on the enemy as possible,'_ they had told him. So far, so good.

"Here's the folder you wanted, Captain Wesker."

Wesker glanced up at the man standing before his desk. Chris Redfield, such nice young man, what with his charming personality and totally unsuspecting nature. He gave a small chuckle at the brunette's enthusiastic salute and smile. He reminded Wesker so much of a dog; loyal and wanting so much to please whom it deemed the pack leader.

"Thank you, Redfield." Wesker picked up the file and skimmed through it's contents before a slight frown set on his face and he let out a dissatisfied, "Hmm..."

"What is it, sir?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just noticed there's some information missing from this file. Perhaps it was misplaced in another one..."

"Do you want me to go find it? I can if you need me to. It's no trouble, really."

Another chuckle. "Do as you wish, Redfield." As he easily predicted, Chris scurried off to find the missing piece of the folder's puzzle. It was almost funny how much the man was sucking up to him. He wondered vaguely if Chris even knew that he wasn't due for a promotion in quite a while.

"He's so much like a puppy..." Wesker mused quietly to himself.

_'You are my dog. My bitch, in technical terms.'_

The S.T.A.R.S. captain frowned as the words surfaced in his head. Sergei...He hadn't seen the man at all since their talk in the cafeteria two weeks prior. That was good. He needed the man to stay away, yet...

He wanted to talk to him again. He was - dare he say it? - missing seeing Sergei around the facility. Plus he needed to explain himself; apologize and tell him to just lay off with the amorous advances for a while until he got his feelings assessed and sorted out.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a deeply accented voice well-known to him could be heard just outside the office. A short, muffled conversation went on before the owner of the voice stepped inside. Wesker watched wordlessly as Sergei strode over to his desk.

"What are you doing here?" The blond inquired in a voice hushed by surprise.

"Call me crazy, but I needed to see you."

"About what?"

"No, I just needed to see you. To look at you. It feels as though it's been forever since I had last seen you, I-" The Russian chuckled at his nonsensical words. "Yes, I know, you would not wish to see me again unless I were being hit by a bus, but I...I just needed to see you, is all. So," He cleared his throat. "now that I've made an ass out of myself, I'll take my leave now." He swiftly turned to make his exit.

A sigh arose from Wesker as he arose from the chair. "Sergei, wait."

Sergei brought himself to a halt and looked over his shoulder with his good eye.

"Don't leave just yet. The air needs to be cleared of some things." He led Sergei into the break room, empty of any other souls. He motioned for the man to sit at the table while he reached over to the coffee pot. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you, comrade."

Wesker poured himself a cup and sat across from Sergei, letting out a deep sigh. "I have to apologize for what I had said to you. I hadn't meant it like that."

"Well, comrade, how did you mean to say a 'disgusting human being?'" He recited the last words distastefully.

"I didn't mean to call you that. I just...I don't know. It was strange for me."

"Comrade, do you dislike people who are...you know...like that?"

"Huh?" He shook his head. "Oh, no. No. Don't get me wrong, Sergei, I'm not the least bit homophobic. It's just not an everyday occurrence for a man to tell me they love me. Or a woman, either, now that I think about it..."

Relaxing slightly, Sergei inquired, "So, you do not think of me as disgusting for my...preferences?"

"No, I don't. It was simply a strange experience for me and...well, you were honest with me, so I'll be honest with you. I thought you were up to something. That's mostly why I had said that, but the more I went over everything that had happened in my mind, the more I realized I actually didn't mind everything that took place. I no longer cared whether you were scheming something; I just hoped you would come around again."

Sergei gave a pleased smirk. "So...are you saying what I hope you're saying?"

"Not exactly. I just need some space. You know, to go over things a little more thoroughly and get everything straightened out. You understand, don't you?"

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "I completely understand, comrade."

"Captain, there you are!" Chris invited himself in, holding another folder in his hand. "I found the rest of the information from the other folder."

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Redfield. Just leave it on my desk."

"Anytime, sir." Chris gave a salute and left.

Wesker glanced at Sergei, taking note of his vexed expression and how his fist had curled up tightly. Raising a brow, he inquired what was troubling him.

"Can you not tell?" The grey-haired man briefly continued glaring at the doorway Chris had been standing in just seconds ago before turning back to Wesker. "He's interested in you, comrade. VERY interested."

"What?" Wesker chuckled. "No, that can't be it. He's simply sucking up for a promotion. It's nothing more."

"Whatever you say, comrade." The Russian stood and headed over to the door. "I need to return to the facility now."

"And I must get back to work." Wesker got up. "Oh, um, Sergei?"

"Yes, comrade?"

"I know I said I needed space, but that doesn't mean that we can't be on friendly terms for now. Would you want to have lunch together on Friday?"

"Lunch? Why, yes, comrade, I would love that. It's a _date_." He chuckled quietly before leaving.

Coffee in hand, the S.T.A.R.S. captain trekked back to his office, mentally asking himself on the way there, _'Is Chris really gay for me?'_

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I couldn't resist inserting the last line there. XD


	6. Lunch Date

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 6: Lunch Date

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Usually, Fridays were days that Wesker hated as much as any living being could possibly scorn something. On Fridays, he always had the late shift and as dedicated as he was to his job, he was still human. This Friday, however, was fairly different. Despite knowing full well he'd undergo the late shift once more, he was looking forward to the day.

Wesker sat himself down at an empty table in the more secluded section of the cafeteria, laying his lab coat off to the side and contently peeling the sticker off of the apple he brought to snack on. No sooner than he tried shaking the sticky paper off of his finger did Sergei take a seat down across from him.

Sergei cocked an eyebrow as he watched Wesker's antics. "Muscle spasms, comrade?"

"Fruit sticker." The blond explained, finally managing to shake off the sticky annoyance. He took a glance at his superior's lunch tray, which was piled high with a different variety of foods. "Dear God, are you going to eat all of that?"

Sergei gestured to the apple. "Is that all you're eating?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then here." The Russian pushed the tray more in Wesker's direction. "I'll share with you."

"Oh, come now, Sergei."

"I understand Fridays are your late nights and this is the only chance you get to eat between now and when your shift is done. That's a pretty long time without eating, comrade, and I would hate for you to drop like a fly in the middle of some experiment."

"Now you're just talking crazy. And how do you know this? Have you been watching me?"

"Yes, I stalk you constantly." Sergei replied in a lackluster fashion. "Just eat."

Wesker obeyed, discarding his apple over to the side and he picked a pudding cup off of the tray. He'd only taken a few spoonfuls of the chocolate goop when he heard Sergei chuckle.

"Now what, may I ask, is so funny?" He inquired.

"You're such a sloppy eater, comrade, did you know that?"

"I am not a sloppy eater."

"You have pudding around your lips."

"Do not." But Wesker checked anyway with the reflective metal napkin dispenser to the side of the table and discovered some of the dessert smeared around his lips. Annoyed with the mess, he pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began wiping at his mouth.

"Wait, comrade." Sergei placed his hand on his subordinate's arm to cease its movement. "Let me." He took a quick side glance to see if it was safe and when he was sure he was in the clear, he leaned across the table, rising from his chair slightly. He brushed his lips over Wesker's, easily tasting the pudding on them, before pulling away quickly and plopping back down in his seat. He licked his own lips contently.

"Are you _insane_?" Wesker hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had witnessed what just happened. If he was at all unsure of who saw what, he would just make a mental note of who was present in the cafeteria and kill them all later as a precaution.

"Calm down, comrade. Nobody saw."

"Besides, what did I tell you the other day?"

"I remember clearly what you said. I just couldn't help myself. You all but set me up for that one." He smirked playfully.

Wesker sighed. "Give me a break."

"What's your favorite color?" The ex-colonel asked rather randomly.

"Pardon?"

"You said we should remain on friendly terms, didn't you? Well, it would help if we knew a little more about each other, wouldn't it?"

"That's true."

"...Well?"

"Um...black, I think."

"You think?"

"I really don't care that much about colors to have a favorite one."

"Mine is green. I love green."

Minutes passed of more trivial questions being tossed back and forth, mostly from Sergei, while the two men ate and picked at the food on the tray. By the time the food was replaced with meager corpses of their former selves, Wesker realized he should be getting back to work and prepared to bade Sergei farewell.

"Hold on, comrade, just one more question."

"Alright, but make it quick." The blond looked at his watch.

"Do your lips always taste like pudding?" The playful smirk returned.

"Oh, shut up." Wesker thought for a moment before stating, "I like butterscotch candy. I always eat that."

"Yum."

"Now, I've really got to go. Good bye, Sergei." Wesker grabbed his lab coat while his superior gave him a slight wave.

"Good bye, comrade."

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What a lovely date, right? Lol, 'date.'

Anyways, please do leave a review, loyal readers! :3


	7. Careful Observations

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 7: Careful Observations

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Perched at his desk, Wesker observed the Redfield man like a hawk, Sergei's words of accusation ever present in his mind.

_"He's interested in you, comrade. VERY interested."_

Was there really some form of infatuation running through that man's brunette-haired sku-

_'Shit.' _Wesker groused inwardly as he ducked his head down, pretending to be interested in some forms he needed to fill out. Chris had looked up and caught him staring, no doubt. _'God, if he is "interested" in me, he probably thinks the feeling is mutual.'_

"Um, Captain Wesker?"

Hesitantly, Wesker shifted his gaze upwards to his so-called admirer standing before his desk. "Yes, Redfield?" He mentally berated himself for sounding unguarded.

"Did you want something, sir? I couldn't help but noticing you were staring at me...a lot."

"I'm sorry, Redfield, I just...erm..." _'Shit, what do I say?'_ "Say, is that a new cologne you're wearing?" _'Brilliant, Albert, brilliant. Put yourself even further in the hole.'_

Chris perked up. "Actually, yeah, I am."

"It smells nice." _'Stop being a moron and just shut up now. Send him off somewhere and shut up. You're making a fool of yourself and it's not even ten AM yet.'_

"Thank you, sir."

"Um, Redfield, would you mind getting something for me?"

"Sure thing, sir. What is it?"

"I need a file. It..." He thought for a moment. "It isn't labeled, but inside are pictures from a crime scene."

"Sir, there are a lot of those. Where was the crime scene at?"

"That I do not know. I think a brick house. I just really need the file ASAP."

"Um...alright, sir." Puzzled, Chris headed off to the archives while Wesker sat back in his chair, sighing graciously.

_'He'll be there for a while.'_ That he would. Only God knew exactly how many unlabeled crime scene files were sorted in the archives.

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Over the course of a week, Wesker had remained at the S.T.A.R.S. office, off and on observing Chris from afar. Sometimes he would even strike up conversation with the man. He was a rather pleasing conversationalist, and it was a blessing for Wesker because Chris seemed to do a lot of the talking. Wesker himself wasn't really one to carry on a conversation well if it really had no importance to him. But, in a way, it was important to him. It directly involved him. He needed to know exactly what it was Chris felt for him, if anything at all because if Chris didn't hold feelings of romance for him, then he could just focus on trying to get everything with Sergei settled. Adding Chris into the equation would only put more stress on him and make him want to shove his head into an overflowing sink.

Wesker soon found himself no longer sending his subordinate on bullshit trips to the archives and the break room and anywhere else he could possibly send him. He instead allowed the man to hang around when he had nothing better to do and they just talked.

__

'Maybe Sergei was wrong.'

The double agent thought whilst Chris was in the middle of a story about himself and his sister. He gave a short, but hearty laugh after the brunette mentioned something rather hilarious. _'He doesn't seem "interested" in me, nor trying to suck up for a promotion. He doesn't seem the type. Surely he's just trying to be friendly.'_

"So, um, Captain Wesker..." Chris began after a calming breath, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Just Wesker is fine."

Chris looked a tad surprised, as if his captain just leapt on top of the table and shouted it to everyone, though there was no one else present. It was pretty late in the evening and just about everyone except for the custodial staff had left to go home.

"What?"

The Redfield shook his head. "Nothing." He gave a smirk that radiated a different kind of playfulness than Sergei. "But if that's the way you wanna play it, fine. Call me Chris."

"Very well then, Chris. Now, as you were saying?"

"Oh, right." Chris chuckled sheepishly. "Me and a couple of the boys were gonna go to the bar Saturday night. I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna come along?"

"I'm not much of a drinker."

"You don't have to drink."

"Well..."

"Please? It'll be really fun." Chris gave him a bright smile, using the tactic as a wordless way to encourage him to join in.

Wesker let out a sigh of defeat. "Alright. It's not like I have any plans that night, anyway."

"Great!" Cheerfully, Chris grabbed his leather jacket off the table. "Can't wait. I'll see you tomorrow, Wesker."

With a curt wave, Wesker watched the other man leave, biting back the urge to chuckle. That man really did remind him of an innocent little puppy. His things were gathered in silent contemplation as he got ready to leave the RPD. He took a moment to neaten his desk the best he could before he left. He inhaled the night air deeply as he stepped out of the silent maw of the police station.

"You were in there a while, comrade."

The voice somewhat took him by surprise, but Wesker relaxed immediately and turned to its source. "Well, good evening, Sergei. What brings you here?"

"I was going to walk you home. You'd been in there so long, I almost thought you weren't inside and I was just about to leave."

"Yes, I was talking to Redfield."

They began walking, the crisp, clear night air swirling about them and the luminescent moon breaking overhead through the confines of clouds that were laced about it.

"That man who left shortly before you did?"

"That's him."

"I see." Sergei's face contorted in a very minute, closed-mouth snarl. He had already decided he hated that Chris Redfield. He knew exactly what his intentions were with Wesker as if it were all tattooed on every inch of the man and it left a bitter taste in Sergei's mouth. Chris wanted what Sergei believed was rightfully his and he would make sure that man stayed as far away as possible from what was his whenever he could.

Chris, he could tell, shared the same sentiments of hate. When he had left the RPD and took notice of Sergei standing there, he gave him a glare. Sergei had almost laughed when that happened because, to him, it was one of the weakest glares he'd ever seen, though that was comparing all to his own. He had a pretty nasty glare, and he gave the nastiest that he could to the Redfield man. He'd pretended he wasn't fazed, but his gait had quickened just enough for Sergei to pick up.

"He asked me to come with him to the bar Saturday." Wesker stated nonchalantly.

"And what did you say?" _'Comrade, humor me and tell me you declined.'_

"He all but begged me to go, and I don't believe I'm cruel enough to say no to something like that."

"Well, that's nice." _'дерьмо! прокляните это! трахнитесь!'_ The Russian's inner voice continued to go on a complete tangent of choice words. No way in hell was he going to leave that man alone with Wesker, though a crowded bar doesn't technically count as 'alone.'

"Some other co-workers are coming as well. I've no clue who yet."

"What do you think of that man? I mean, do you still believe he's not interested in you?"

"Well, I sort of thought maybe he was at first, but after a while, I realized he was just trying to be friendly.

_'A little too friendly...'_

The continuation of their walk was silent, sans a recap of things that happened at the Umbrella facility while Wesker was gone and likewise some things worth mentioning at S.T.A.R.S. that Wesker felt needed to be shared. They laughed quietly over stories such as Joseph Frost coming into work late with a hangover and Forest Speyer was waiting maliciously with an airhorn and an incredibly embarrassing incident William Birkin had when one of the pre-injection specimen got loose and it happened to be in heat and, unfortunately, William's leg was the nearest piece of flesh and blood in sight.

"Poor William." Wesker snickered. "Tell him I send my condolences."

"I will."

Wesker climbed the porch steps and gave one last glance at Sergei. "Good night, Sergei."

"Good night. Try not to have too much fun on Saturday." He smiled slyly.

"Very funny." Wesker slipped inside his home, leaving Sergei to glower at the thought of that damn Redfield hanging around him with an abundance of alcohol present.

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OMG, what's gonna happen between Chris and Wesker at the bar?! Find out in the next chapter! :3


	8. The Clock Tower

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 8: The Clock Tower

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Saturday evening came about quicker than Wesker could blink, though he was rather relieved. He could just kick back and watch a couple of his coworkers from S.T.A.R.S. get drunk off their asses and make utter fools of themselves. Maybe he'd even join in on the fun. Well, it wasn't like he was planning on being the buzz kill of the group; he just wasn't planning on being sober one minute and the next, he'd be dancing on the table with some sort of object over his head that didn't belong there.

On the other hand, maybe it would be a little beneficial to let his inhibitions go for just one night. It was only _one_ night, after all, and considering all that had been going on as of late, he decided that maybe he just needed to let loose and relax.

He just hoped that if he did end up making a fool of himself, someone else in the group would make an even bigger one of themselves afterwards.

_'If you can't be a fool around your 'friends,' then who can you be a fool around?' _He gave himself a last look over in the mirror before adjusting his sunglasses.

A sharp, steady knock sounded from the door and when Wesker answered, there was Chris, dressed down incredibly casual. Wesker was as well, but not exactly as much as Chris.

"Hey, Wesker, you ready to go?"

"About as ready as I'll ever be." Wesker ran a hand over his slicked hair.

"We'll be meeting the guys there." Chris led his captain out to his car; a sleek looking machine that Wesker never pictured someone like Chris owning. "There's been a little change in plans."

_'Oh, God, this better be good...'_ "What is it?"

* * *

The sign, craftily designed to look like the face of an antique clock, housed the words, 'The Clock Tower' on it in bright neon green lights. Loud music was pulsating from the place, so strident that Wesker could swear he felt the sound waves reverberating through the ground. Oh, this was not what he expected at all when Chris had mentioned an alteration in the evening's events.

"A night club?" The blond said in a quizzical, almost disbelieving, manner.

"Yeah. The guys wanted to scope out some chicks and this would be the best place to do it."

A voice called to Chris and he looked towards the line, grinning and waving when he recognized his coworkers. From his place, Wesker identified Joseph, Forest, Richard Aiken, Kenneth Sullivan, and Edward Dewey.

"We saved you guys a spot!" Forest called out, grinning back and motioning for them to come over with one arm while the other was slung lazily around Richard's shoulders in a friendly gesture.

"Come on, Captain."

_'Lord, what have I gotten myself into...?'_ He followed Chris to their saved spot in line, thankful they didn't have to go all the way to the back and wait what he assumed would be about fifteen minutes, given the length of the line.

In no time, they got up to the doors, flashed their IDs, and entered the club. Some parts of the place were brightly lit with lights of every color imaginable while other parts were mostly submerged in a dim fog of darkness. The bar was mostly in one of the well-lit areas, though a very small section of the side, perhaps by about two barstools, was eaten by one of the darkened areas.

A multitude of scantily-dressed women were out on the dance floor, bumping and grinding with either their dates or some drunk loser who had been taking shots at the bar. The drunken men the scantily-dressed women danced with appeared to be no more sober than the women themselves.

"Come on, guys!" Kenneth shouted over the blaring techno music, leading them over to an empty table near the corner of the lighted area the bar was at.

As they sat down, Forest produced a pair of dice from his pocket, grinning the smile of the big bad wolf. "Gentlemen, the name of the game is, 'whoever the hell gets snake eyes has to be the designated driver.' Just don't chuck these too hard or we'll never find out."

The men all took their turns tossing the die, and much to Forest's displeasure, he was the one who ended up getting the snake eyes. Growling, he chucked the dice away, spitting out a few choice swears before settling in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest.

Joseph clasped Forest on the shoulder. "Sorry, Forest, but looks like you're tonight's loser." He gave his friend a joking grin, resulting in him being called a dick and his hand being smacked away in a teasing manner.

One of the barely-clothed women looked over in their direction and winked, motioning for one of them to come over. Seeing as he couldn't drink, Forest figured he'd have some fun in another way and volunteered himself, grinning wickedly as he approached the redhead.

"Looks like someone's gonna get lucky tonight." Joseph remarked.

"Maybe it's a sign we're all gonna get lucky, too. You know how Forest is with women." Edward smirked before placing his hands on the table to get up. "I'm gonna go see if I can find myself one of those in a size DD." He made to get up, stumbling a little as he stepped on something tiny. "Shit! Ugh, damn Forest and his fucking dice..." He left, seething a little about stepping on the dice.

"While they're gone, let's get ourselves good and drunk." Joseph stood up. "I'm gonna go get us a couple of beers and we're gonna play, 'I never.'" He slinked over towards the bar. Richard also happened to leave the table as he did, though it was to find himself a lady like Edward.

Wesker's face twisted in puzzlement. "'I never?'"

"Someone says, 'I never,' and then they say whatever pops into their head. Whoever did whatever was said has to take a drink." Chris explained to his confused captain.

Kenneth butted in with, "No, they gotta say something honest, not whatever the hell they want."

"But saying something random makes it more fun, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

When Joseph returned with the drinks, Wesker wondered exactly how many ' a couple' was to the man. He was actually carrying a tray peppered with dozens of shot glasses full of multicolored liquid.

"The vodka's cheaper." He explained as he placed the tray down. "I forgot they lower the prices on their specialty 'rainbow' vodka on Saturdays. Get your glasses, boys."

Each of the men, including Joseph, picked up a shot glass from the tray. Wesker examined his in astonishment. The liquid inside was red on top, then underneath that was orange, then yellow, then green, then blue, and finally purple. How they had managed to do that was beyond him.

"I'll go first." Chris volunteered. He made a slight, "Hmm..." noise as he pretended to be thinking hard.

"Oh, just pick something already!" Kenneth waved his arm impatiently.

"I..." He smiled wickedly. "I never danced on the table with a lampshade over my head."

"Ah, come on! It was a Christmas party three years ago and I was drunk off my ass with eggnog!" Kenneth let out a heavy sigh and downed the contents of his shot glass, exhaling sharply with a slight cough and he slammed his glass down. "Damn, that's some strong stuff."

Chris shifted to Wesker. "Your turn, Wesker."

"Don't make it too hard, Cap'in." Joseph added.

"Hmm...I never hated Mondays."

All four of them downed their drinks, each left with his throat burning from the snake-like drinks; colorful, but highly detrimental.

Before long, the four remaining were laughing jovially at nothing in particular. Joseph slumped over the table, knocking over some of the empty glasses with his arm. He giggled madly and let out a slurred, "Oops."

"You are drunk, Jo." Kenneth snickered, facing Chris, whom he thought was Joseph.

"He's over there, Kenneth." Chris turned him in the right direction.

"Come on, Jo-Jo, let's sober you up." Kenneth stood sluggishly and latched his hands around Joseph's biceps, pulling him up from the table. "Let's go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face or something."

"I-I'm not that drunk." Joseph protested as he was led away. "I could drive like this. I really could, man."

Chris let forth a subtly inebriated snicker as he watched his two friends stumble away before turning to Wesker. "How are you feeling, Captain?"

"Oh, I'm just great. Great." The blond nodded as if to affirm his words. That had some slight truth to it, seeing as he and Chris hadn't ingested nearly as much vodka as their two comrades had, but they were fairly under the influence.

"You wanna dance?"

Wesker blinked. "What? No way. I'd look like an idiot."

"I'll be dancing with you, so we'll both look like idiots. What do you say?"

"Well..." Theoretically, it made perfect sense to Wesker in his drunken state of mind and he nodded. "Alright, why not?"

Chris led his superior out onto the flashing dance floor, leading him by the wrist so that he wouldn't risk losing him in the sea of sweaty, half naked, gyrating bodies. He let go once he found a spot he and Wesker could steal and started moving his body. Wesker honestly had not a clue on what he should do, so he watched Chris carefully before mimicking his movements. Even with all the alcohol in his system, the double agent wondered just what he was doing dancing in the middle of a club like a buffoon.

His whole mindset changed when he caught sight of Chris' face. He could tell from his expression alone that he was simply having a ball. Now that Wesker thought about it, he was having fun, as well. To add to the fun, they picked off drinks from the waitresses walking about the crowds to let people snag a free drink or two. Or twelve.

Partially at the fault of the excessive amounts of alcohol, Chris thought it would be both hilarious and enjoyable to begin dancing with his hips gyrating right up against Wesker. Wesker really didn't mind it, half because he was too drunk to care and half because the motions were sending good vibrations to his pelvic region.

The two of them danced for what felt like an eternity, both gradually becoming more intoxicated, before Wesker felt a hand tug on his wrist and lead him over to a more secluded corner over by the back door.

From one of the dark, slight elevated sections of the club, a set of sharp wolfish eyes - one of which was rendered useless - followed the two males vigilantly.

Sergei had been dragged down to the club thanks to Birkin and a few other Umbrella employees whom he barely knew personally. Why they invited him, he had no clue. He simply wasn't the club go-er, and he especially didn't want to be there when there was the thought of that Chris guy moving in on Wesker to worry about. However, he was suddenly glad he came to The Clock Tower now that he had spotted his prize and the other competitor that wanted to claim him on the dance floor.

_'He lied...' _He thought venomously.

"Somethin' wrong, Sergei?" Birkin asked, his words so slurred that they were like a verbal slushie as his upper body lay heavily over the table top.

"I'm fine." The Russian replied. That had a hint of truth in it, seeing as he was the only one in the group still sober.

"Well, you should have another drink, anyway." Birkin pushed a glass across the table, nearly knocking it over in his drunken stupor. "Here, buddy, drink up."

"No thanks." Sergei frowned as he looked back across the dance floor, swearing in his native tongue when he couldn't locate either Wesker or Chris. In any other situation, Sergei would've been laughing like a mad man at how Birkin seemed to mutate into a different person given the right amount of alcohol.

But not tonight.

"Aww, but it tastes REALLY good. I swear, it's like sex in your mouth. SEX in your MOUTH."

Sergei grunted as he arose from his chair. "I'll be back."

"Where do ya think you're goin'?"

"Bathroom." He lied.

"Have fun!" The researcher gave him a sluggish, exaggerated wave good bye.

In the meantime, Wesker reluctantly allowed for himself to be dragged off the dance floor.

"Where are we going?" He inquired.

"I'm getting tired." The younger man panted slightly, fanning his face briefly with his hand. Letting go of the wrist in his grasp, he turned to its owner. "Need to rest."

Wesker snickered drunkenly. "I can't believe you were grinding against me like one of those floosies."

"You liked it, though, Captain...I could tell..." Chris threw him a knowing, mischievous beam.

"Oh, really?" He gave a snort. "How?"

Chris drew himself closer, his smile only growing bigger. "I could feel the tent pitched in your pants."

Wesker averted his gaze elsewhere, feeling exposed as though Chris were reading him even through his shades. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize." He leaned forward enough so that his lips brushed Wesker's ear. He whispered teasingly in his superior's ear, "I liked it..."

Under normal circumstances, Wesker would've...God, he didn't even know what he'd do in a situation like this. All he knew was that given the unusual circumstances - alcohol, blood rapidly descending south, and a rather attractive man telling him he actually liked Wesker's predicament - it led to one thing.

The next thing either of them knew was that they were in the deserted alleyway in behind the club, the back door slamming shut behind them. Chris stumbled backwards as Wesker pushed him against the chilly brick wall, attacking his lips with his own. He had no idea how to respond other than retaliate with his mouth, fighting his captain for dominance.

Wesker momentarily broke their contact so that he could latch onto Chris' neck, sucking just near his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Oh, God, Wesker..." The Redfield groaned, tilting his head back. His eyes slid shut as he steadily became overly intoxicated with the intense pleasure and another moan left his mouth. "Wesker..." His eyes opened once again, albeit half lidded, and he caught sight of something that made his breath hitch in shock and surprise. "Wesker..." He mumbled the name nervously.

Wesker stopped his ministrations to look the shorter man in the face. "What's wro-" Before the question fully left his lips, he was shoved roughly to the ground. He looked up, bewilderment evident on his features. When he finally managed to get a grasp on things, he saw Sergei standing before Chris, laying a solid punch to his jaw. Chris stumbled over to the side, just barely keeping on his feet.

"Get out of here, you распутник!" The Russian snarled, prepping his fist for another punch if needed.

Chris fled; though pretty drink, he still had some sense to know that he would most likely have his ass handed to him twelve times over in the condition he was in. He mumbled something along the lines of, "Damn commie..." as he departed.

Wesker picked himself up off the ground, rubbing his head from where it hit the concrete. "Sergei? My God, are you stalking me?"

"No." Sergei grimaced at the strong, detectable scent of alcohol laced within Wesker's breath. "Birkin and a few other people dragged me down here. I haven't seen sight of any of them other than Birkin for hours."

"Birkin's here, too?" Wesker snorted, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Comrade, what are _you_ doing here? You said you were going to the bar."

"A...a slight change in plans. Last minute." The blond laid a hand on Sergei's shoulder to stable himself. "The boys wanted to come here, so here we came. God damn, this is _fun_. Except when you punched Chris. That wasn't fun."

"He was walking on dangerous territory..."

"'Dangerous territory?'" Wesker looked about them. "It doesn't look dangerous here to me. Then again, I'm pretty drunk. I'm so drunk that I'm jollier than fucking Santa Claus. Can you believe it?"

The grey-haired man ignored the question. "What I meant was-"

"I'm also pretty turned on, too. I won't lie."

"Well-" Sergei never got a chance to finish his sentence when Wesker all but jumped on him, wrapping his arms around him and trapping his lips in a fierce kiss. A muffled sound left his throat and he quickly pushed Wesker away just enough for him to speak. "Comrade, what are you doing?"

"I told you, I was horny," He explained as though it was blatant. "And you like me, don't you?"

"Yes, comrade, I do, but-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"BUT you're rather...intoxicated right now. I would be taking advantage of you."

"So? I don't care if you take advantage of me. I WANT you to."

"But, comrade..."

Wesker shushed him quietly, bringing himself closer. "Sergei, listen and listen good. Don't think about what I'm going to say tomorrow morning. Don't think about what I'm going to do. Just think about the 'now' and not the 'then,' got it?"

He didn't need to be told twice. He slammed Wesker against the brick, careful not to hurt the man, and pinned him there, ferociously capturing Wesker's mouth with his own.

"Get a room!" A voice suddenly shouted from the back door of the club, causing the Russian to pull away from his prey.

"Screw you!" Wesker flipped the man the bird before grabbing Sergei's arm. "Come on, Sergei. Let's go back to your place. Where's your car?"

* * *

OMG, Wesker and Sergei are gonna get it on! :O

...Or are they? OMG, read the next chapter and find out!


	9. The Aftermath

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 9: The Aftermath

* * *

The light peaking through the heavy drapes came to a rest square on Wesker's face, aggravating the pulsing pound in his head as he groggily blinked his eyes open. He groaned as he sat up, clutching his head with his hand.

His stomach felt as though it dropped deep inside of his gut as the events of the previous night came flooding back to him.

_'No...it was just a dream. It had to have been...'_

Deny as he might, he couldn't dismiss the fact that he was not in his own room, this was not his bed, and it was highly probable that if he glanced to his left, he'd see a human-like lump under the covers. Not to mention he had a dull ache in his backside.

Sure enough, he looked and discovered the slumbering form of Sergei next to him, snoring softly into the pillow.

All the color in Wesker's face drained. _'Oh, dear Lord...'_

The bedsprings squeaked quietly as Wesker carefully got up, cringing a little as the irritation in his backside grew more bold with his movements. He then proceeded to carefully gather his clothes and redress. Just as he was finishing with the buckle on his belt, he heard Sergei shift behind him on the bed and give a sleepy noise from his throat.

"Comrade?" Sergei blinked, voice thick with sleep and eyes half-lidded. He adjusted himself so that his head was propped up by his hand.

Wesker stopped his buckling, his face taking form of a bold scowl. Without turning to Sergei, he growled, "You dirty bastard..."

"What's wrong, comrade?"

The blond whipped around to give his superior an all-out glare. "It should be VERY obvious what is wrong, Sergei." He enounced each word with all the spite he could produce. "You...you SLEPT with me while I was heavily under the influence."

"Comrade, I'm simply a man. I was hot and you were telling me it was alright."

"I was DRUNK, you idiot."

"Yes, that was clear. But you really wanted to and I must say, you didn't act like you hated it." Sergei smirked.

"Yes, because I was drunk." Wesker sighed as he started to fumble with his belt buckle again. "I have to leave."

The smirk transformed into a frown. "Don't be upset with me. That man Chris also took advantage of you and you don't seem upset about that."

"He didn't take advantage of me the way you did." Wesker sent another glower Sergei's way.

"And it's a good thing he didn't or I would personally see to it that he's castrated. Remember, comrade, I told you I loved you and I meant it. I don't know what he's said to you, but I can guarantee you that my words hold more truth to them than his."

There was a detectable pause as Wesker was putting on his shoes. He forced himself to continue the mundane task before he sat on the edge of the bed, blowing out a frustrated breath. He felt like he had forgotten something, yet hadn't a clue as to what it was.

"You're not making this easy, do you realize that?"

Sergei arched an eyebrow as he sat up. "What am I not making easy?"

"Deciding. I don't know whether to love you or hate you or something else entirely."

The Russian chuckled. "Ah, yes. I underwent the same thing when I met you for the very first time. After a while, I simply decided to love you because you're a very interesting individual."

"Oh, am I now?"

"Yes."

"What's one thing you find interesting about me?"

"Your eyes." Sergei slid himself over to the edge of the bed with Wesker, the sheets barely covering his pelvic region. "I had never seen them before last night. I always wondered what they looked like."

_'Sunglasses!' _Wesker's mind snapped when he realized that was what he had sensed was missing. He looked over at the nightstand where his trademark sunglasses lay discarded, the arms open like they were ready to return to their perpetual embrace upon his face. He reached over to grab them, but Sergei stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't put them back on just yet."

"Why not?" The blond flexed his fingers as a sort of warning. If Sergei didn't let go, he would make him.

"Your eyes are beautiful."

Wesker appeared rather stunned at the confession. He was, believe it or not, self-conscious of his eyes; once a luscious blue color but now a fiery orange and cat-like in appearance due to a failed experiment Umbrella tried years prior. Since the failure, he had always worn the sunglasses to hide his freakish eyes.

But now...Sergei was saying his so called "freakish eyes" were beautiful.

Unsurely, Wesker whispered, "Are they really?"

"Yes. You know..." Sergei stood, picking up his discarded boxers and slipping them on. "My favorite color is orange."

"I thought it was green."

"Not anymore." Sergei stepped into his pants and buttoned them. "I'm going to make some breakfast. Do you want anything?"

Lowering his back to the bed, Wesker groaned, "Aspirin...Oh, don't bother. I should be leaving, anyway."

"No, comrade, stay. It would be rude of me to let you go, especially since it's so bright outside this morning."

Bright? Bright wasn't good. Bright meant he would be in severe pain all the way home, and speaking of home, he had no idea where Sergei's house was located. Even if he wanted to leave, he couldn't without some directions.

Damn.

"Eggs." Wesker said without looking at his superior. "I want eggs." He heard him giving a confirmative, "Alright." before fading footsteps entered his ears. He laid there for a while, his arm draped over his eyes as the deafening pulse of his throbbing head pulsated in his ears. Even the noises Sergei made downstairs - the skillet popping and sizzling, the clatter of pots and pans, an occasional swear of Russian origin - only served to further punish his abused head.

Mouth-watering scents of fluffy eggs and juicy bacon teasingly wafted to his nose and he couldn't resist getting up and heading downstairs to the kitchen. The minute he sat himself at the table, a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and some harsh browns was placed before him.

"My God, Sergei, this is a whole day's worth of food on my plate." He remarked, grabbing the fork off the plate.

"Well, what can I say?" Sergei took his place across from Wesker. "I have a large appetite."

"Seeing as you buy out half the cafeteria at lunch, that shouldn't surprise me." Wesker stabbed his eggs and took a bite, moaning pleasurably at the taste. He had no idea what it was Sergei had put in them, but whatever it was, it was delicious.

Sergei chuckled. "I see you like it, comrade."

"Whatever is in these eggs," He took another bite. "It's heavenly."

"It's love." The Russian smirked lightheartedly.

"Hmm...love needs a little salt." The blond reached across the table to nab the salt and sprinkled it generously on the solidified yellow clouds that were his eggs.

Sergei's face fell just a bit before, unsurely, he said, "Speaking of love...about last night..."

Wesker said nothing, but his fork stopped in midair.

"Did that effect anything? What I mean is did it cause you to do a complete 180 about your thoughts and how you perceive me? I understand you're not too happy about it and that's reasonable, given the situation."

Sighing heavily, Wesker set the utensil down. "Honestly? No. I should have stormed out of the house - I was going to - but you did have a point with what you said. You reminded me you loved me, and I guess that made up for it. I don't know what I'm even saying, but I don't hate you for it." He gave a faint chuckle. "And I'll admit, you're good in bed, but that isn't going to drastically alter my choice and my thoughts, either."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Take it as a good thing. Now, we can simply put what happened last night behind- Sergei, what are you doing?" He looked up as his superior arose from his seat and walked around the table at a troublingly slow pace.

"We could, comrade, or..." He gave a knowing smirk. "We could do it again...It would be much better since now you're sober."

"No, Sergei, not aga-" But he was silenced as he was pulled up out of his chair and pressed tightly against Sergei, who swiftly laid his lips over Wesker's, tasting his breakfast on them. He had tried protesting, but simply gave into lust once Sergei was nipping at his neck and unbuttoning his shirt.

They ended up finishing their breakfast by the afternoon, when it was cold and required reheating in the microwave.

* * *

Oh, yeah. They SO did it...and then they did it again the next day! ;3 Oh, and obviously I kinda switched up the origin of Wesker's eyes. I mean, his eyes got like that because he injected himself with the virus shortly before the events of the first Resident Evil, yeah? Ah, it's been a while.

Well, homeskillets and homebacon, remember to review and stay alert for the next chapter! :D


	10. Rumors

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 10: Rumors

* * *

The following Monday proved to be rather awkward for Wesker, though he did absolutely everything in his power to make that fact unapparent to the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. members.

As he stepped into the S.T.A.R.S. office, he caught Joseph and Forest snickering amongst themselves, most likely about the fun they had Saturday night. When Forest caught sight of Wesker, he held a cupped palm over the side of his mouth suspiciously and whispered something to Joseph, who replied with a hushed snicker.

Wesker raised a brow at them as they moved on, wondering why they were acting like a conspiracy against him was afoot and they were tied into it. He simply shrugged it off and headed into the break room for some coffee. Kenneth was there, getting himself a cup.

"Good morning, Sullivan." The blond gave salutation, keeping his formalities in check.

"Oh, um, good morning, sir." Kenneth clutched his cup with uneasy fingers.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, sir. I, um, I gotta go." He briskly walked past his superior, mumbling an awkward apology under his breath.

Things were really starting to get strange, and they only got more so within the next couple of minutes as more of his coworkers gave him the same treatment; either they acted really tense around him or they simply stared and gossiped amongst each other. Just as he was wondering what was going on, the Bravo team captain Enrico Marini pulled him aside into a private corner where they could converse without eavesdroppers hanging around.

"Captain Wesker..." It came out as more of a question as Enrico scrutinized him carefully.

"Yes, Captain Marini?"

"You...I'm sure you've noticed all the attention you're getting this morning."

"Yes, I have. Would you happen to know what it's all about?"

"Well..." Enrico let out a small, unsure breath. He continued hesitantly. "There is a rumor going about."

"A rumor? What rumor?"

"Well, someone in the office - I have no idea who it was - said that on Saturday night, you were seen leaving that club The Clock Tower with a man."

Wesker's pulse quickened. He tried to brush off Enrico's statement, saying, "Well, a lot of people leave places with people of the same gender."

"Yes, but apparently you slept with that man as well."

And that was when his insides writhed sickeningly. Had he been seen? Was an ignorant source simply making it up, not knowing it was actually the truth? Whomever had passed this on would soon have to make reparations with their blood, and Wesker had a pretty good idea who it might've been.

* * *

Chris looked completely flabbergasted as he was grabbed from behind, a livid voice telling him, "We need to talk," and he was pushed down the hall before being shoved in the women's bathroom.

"H-Hey! What's going-" He recognized Wesker as he stepped in after him, shutting the door behind him. "Wesker? Why did you push me in the girls' room?"

"That's CAPTAIN to you." The blond replied frostily. He made himself comfortable in front of the door, blocking it so that Chris wouldn't dare to leave. "We are in here because we need to have a private conversation and there aren't that many women working here, so we shouldn't be interrupted."

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to seem as nonchalant as he could in such unfamiliar territory. "Alright, talk. What's up?"

"There seems to be a nasty rumor about me going around the station..." The S.T.A.R.S. captain began, his voice sounding toxic, implicative. "Apparently, I left with a man Saturday night AND slept with him. You wouldn't happen to know about this, would you, _Christopher_?" The name slid from his tongue as filth.

Chris looked incredulous. "Me? No, sir. I didn't-" His throat gave birth to a strangled gasp as Wesker suddenly strode towards him and shoved his forearm into his neck, pushing him up against the wall and holding him there roughly. He struggled weakly, clawing at the arm thrust into his neck.

"Don't you DARE lie to me, Christopher Redfield. Remember, I'm your superior. I can spread rumors, too. Rumors that can get you fired. I also have the right connections to specific people, Christopher. I can have horrible things done to you. Or your dear sister...Would you want for that to happen, Christopher?"

Chris stopped his struggling, panting for air. "Alright, I'll tell you! Just let me go!"

Wordlessly, Wesker swiftly removed his arm from his captive's throat. "Talk." He commanded bitterly.

Chris gasped for air, leaning against the wall with his hand to his neck. He finally summoned enough breath to say, "Okay, you got me. I did say that, but that's not all there is to it."

"Oh, really?" Wesker's eyebrow arched and he crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight on his feet as he produced a look of mock interest. "Please, do explain."

"It was after I got sucker punched by that guy behind the club. I was outside trying to have a smoke - I was so drunk that I was trying to light empty space - and I saw you guys leaving. I was pretty pissed about what just happened, so when I went back in the club and found the guys, I told them you'd left with some guy to go fuck him." He took a step forward, sincere remorse written on his features. "Wesker, I really didn't mean for that to happen. I was drunk, so obviously I wasn't thinking. If I weren't, I would never have done that. I'm just..." His hand graced the back of his neck. "God, I'm so sorry."

Wesker knew Chris was not showering him with lies and bullshit, but drunk or not, this was something that couldn't be forgiven so easily. As much as it was the truth whether Chris knew it or not, it was still something Wesker didn't want being heard by the public ear.

Insecurely, the brunette eyed his superior. "Do you forgive me?"

"Maybe I will in the future when this all blows over - IF this blows over - and maybe we'll even share a hearty laugh about it, but right now, no."

Chris' gaze lowered to the floor, his face faltering shamefully.

The door opened, revealing a rather staggered Jill Valentine when she registered in her mind that two males were in the women's room. She shifted her gaze between them momentarily, looking as though she were trying to decipher a crossword puzzle in a language she knew not of.

"Why are you guys in here?" She finally inquired.

"Now what did I tell you, Chris?" Wesker grabbed Chris by the arm, dragging him past Jill out the door. "See, this isn't the men's room."

Jill simply watched in complete mystification as the blond led the brunette down the hall before shaking her head and stepping inside the bathroom.

* * *

The pen scrawled over the papers apathetically, trailing the black blood from it's forever present wound at its tip, forming a multitude of different words and letters. It's blood began to run out, leaving unfinished letters on the papers.

"Damn." Sergei swore on his breath and then dug through a drawer for a new pen. Almost miserably, he found one and began his writings once more. Paperwork was not something he deemed as fun - he would rather watch paint dry - therefore a lack of pen would've been a blessing at the moment.

His office door opened and he griped the pen tighter, irked someone had not bothered to knock before entering. However, when he looked up, a smile graced his face.

"Well, if it isn't comrade Wesker." He chuckled, visibly delighted to see Wesker once again. It had to have been a good week or two since he had last seen him around the Umbrella building, the only time he had seen him otherwise was when he dropped him off at his house Sunday afternoon days ago.

"Hello, Sergei."

Sergei frowned. His subordinate seemed distracted. "Comrade? Is something wrong?" He went back to his work, though he listened earnestly.

"Oh, I'm just fine, Sergei. I'm as fine as a man can be after being humiliated publicly around his place of work."

"What do you mean, comrade?"

"Chris told the guys we - you and I - slept together after we left The Clock Tower and then they told everyone around the RPD."

The Russian's pen stopped mid-stroke. "How does he know that?"

"He doesn't. He just said all that while he was still drunk. He hasn't a clue that what he spread was factual."

"And they believed him?"

"Of course they did. I didn't realize what was going on until the Bravo team captain told me."

The pen was placed down. "It was humiliating?"

"Of course it was." Wesker turned to Sergei, looking at his superior as though he had just entered the conversation for the first time. "Would that not embarrass you?"

The air around Sergei changed, growing more grave, a hint of resentment peppered on. He picked his pen up once more, scribbling on his papers in a fury of strokes and black ink. "Seeing as _I_ am comfortable with my sexuality, no, it would not."

Wesker cringed a bit, his pushing of one of Sergei's buttons unintentional. "I hadn't meant it like that."

Sergei didn't bother to look at him. "No, it's alright, comrade. I understand."

"Sergei, hear me out." He stood in front of the desk, ignored by its owner as he busily filled out forms and whatnot. "I'm not ashamed. It's just not helping the situation."

An inquiring eye flicker upwards. "Truly?"

Wesker gave him a nod. "Yes. I'm still trying to make a decision, and me being the butt of all jokes around the RPD, pardon the pun, isn't exactly helping. Not to mention how prejudice some people are. I could be fired for this."

Sergei chuckled. "I see."

"Why are you chuckling?"

The Russian rose from his desk, strolling to the door. The lock clicked and he turned back to Wesker, wearing a deviant smile.

"Oh, God, what are you doing?"

"I don't want us to be interrupted." He approached the shorter man, a foreboding atmosphere about him.

"From what?"

Face inches from Wesker's, Sergei whispered in a husky tone, "I think you know what..."

"Here? Are you kidding? _Here_? _Now?_"

"I find the idea rather kinky, don't you?"

"I admit, yes I do, but-"

"Not to mention I do hope this will help with your decision..." He leaned in close, engulfing Wesker's lips in his own while he reached behind him and swiped his hand over his desk. Papers and petty items went flying, replaced on the piece of furniture by Wesker as Sergei hoisted him up and sat him upon it, their oral contact never breaking.

* * *

Birkin paced about the lab worried, constantly gluing his eyes to his watch. He acted as though he were about to explode in the worst panic attack ever recorded in history, until a figure entered, blond hair neatly slicked back and his clothing clean, albeit a bit wrinkled.

"Oh, thank God." Birkin released a relieved breath. "Wesker, where were you? You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!"

"I'm terribly sorry, William. Sergei needed me for something." He chose his words carefully.

"Well, it's alright. As long as you're here. Now, let me show you this new virus we're testing out..."

Wesker nodded, his eyes transfixed on Birkin as he crossed the lab, but his mind somewhere else entirely. Sergei. It seemed no matter what, that man was always popping up somewhere, whether it be in his mind or in the flesh. This didn't bother him so much as it would've a few weeks ago. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

_'Maybe we can work this out...'_ He thought indistinctly with an imperceptible smile on his lips.

* * *

Oh, Sergei, you horndog. XD

OMG, are Wesker and Sergei closer to getting together? Like a couple? OMG, this is exciting! :D

Remember to review and watch out for the next chapter of this fanfic whose name is hard to pronounce, so I refer to it as, "the Russian story."


	11. Obscured Tormentors

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 11: Obscured Tormentors

* * *

The S.T.A.R.S. members were gathering in their office, whispering amongst each other in utmost astonishment. Some of them even looked sickened and disgusted. Enrico was stationed just outside the door, waiting for Wesker to come.

Upon entering the RPD, there were muted whispers as Wesker passed and he vaguely wondered what happened now concerning him. When he'd made it to the S.T.A.R.S. office, Enrico hurriedly stopped him from entering.

"Captain Wesker," He sounded troubled. "I highly advise you to brace yourself before entering."

Wesker cocked a brow. "Why? What's going on?"

Enrico sighed. "You'll see..." He led the Alpha team captain inside, stepping out of the way so Wesker could see what the fuss was about.

Wesker's jaw came close to dropping to the floor as he saw his desk completely trashed, his papers torn and thrown every which way. The contents of the drawers were spilled and the drawers themselves were scattered on the floor like litter. That wasn't the most appalling of it, however. A repetition of an atrocious, degrading word was carved into the wood by a hand of malice.

'Faggot.'

Wesker growled and turned to the other S.T.A.R.S. members, shouting, "Who did this?! Come forth right now!"

None of them said anything. They all just stared, unable to believe the sight before them.

The Bravo team captain clasped the Alpha team captain on the shoulder. He spoke in a soft voice, "Calm down, Captain Wesker. We'll find out who did this and make sure they're punished severely." He turned to the others, switching to a more authoritative tone. "Everyone get back to work. There's nothing more to see here."

Some cleared the office while others sat at their respective desks, trying to avert their eyes to the abysmal scene. All except for Jill. She approached Wesker, her face poignant and condoling. She offered a quick word of apology, laying a comforting hand on her captain's arm. He roughly pulled his toned limb away, startling her a bit.

"I'm fine, Valentine." The blond replied unconvincingly, lacking conviction. "This is all just some stupid little prank, probably by those damn rookies, and nothing of the sort will happen again."

He was wrong.

Over the next two weeks, nearly three, Wesker would always be finding something new around the office degrading to his character. He found lewd notes shoved in his desk drawers, telling him to leave the RPD with a multitude of undignified words associated with his sexuality scrawled in revulsion. His personal locker had been beaten in with a blunt object one day and the next, the door was torn off the hinges and all that was in there, including a spare pair of shades, was stolen. Even the picture of the whole Alpha team hanging in the office had be defaced; he had been cut out of the picture.

To add to the fun, there was no trace of evidence to determine who had been up to such doings. Wesker was even starting to get paranoid about it at times, thinking perhaps everyone was in on it and denying responsibility for their actions, pointing fingers at each other when they each knew they were all to blame. But no, that wasn't true. Not everyone was out to get him. His team and the Bravo team were on his side. He knew they were not fibbing when anyone of them said these criminal activities were disgusting and uncalled for and needed to end. Some of them - Joseph, Forest, and Kenneth - promised that when the one or ones at fault were discovered, they would 'beat the living shit out of them until they hacked up each and every tooth,' as Forest had put it.

As things progressively got worse, Wesker's mood descended dramatically. He felt incredibly horrible about himself and more and more, he found himself thinking that getting together with Sergei was not a good course of action, even regretting all of what the two of them had already done. He thought of himself as a vile person for what he'd done and how he felt.

The last straw was when he was taking a bathroom break. He hadn't needed to use the toilet, but rather he just wanted some space to himself. Graffiti was scribbled on the stall, most of which was concerning him. In an array of different handwritings, many insults were listed on the stall, blatant and engraved for all the world to read. No way someone could say, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." because it was all right there, crystal clear.

Angry and repulsed, Wesker threw the stall door open and grabbed a bunch of paper towels, wetting them and soaping them up before returning to the stall and scrubbing at the offensive writings vigorously. He grunted and panted hard as he swiped the wet and soapy clump of paper towels over the words, trying to erase them, but stubbornly they remained, tattooed what seemed permanently on the stall and his mind.

He punched the stall, the writings, his chest heaving with labored breaths. The paper towels hit the floor with a wet splat, sprinkling miniature droplets of water from the impact.

Two faint voices were heard quickly approaching and Wesker shut his mouth, trying to breath silently as he closed the stall door, latching it with care so that it would not make any noise.

"It's just sick." One voice, Forest, said with obvious distaste as he and the other person entered the bathroom. "Motherfucking sick."

"Yeah." The other one, Joseph, agreed.

"I mean, why would someone be doing shit like that to Captain Wesker?"

"Dunno, but they'd better cut it out." Joseph lowered his voice. "I heard rumors about Wesker leaving because of all this."

"Oh, yeah? I heard the higher ups were gonna fire him cuz they're getting tired of all the damage being done to RPD property."

"I hope it's not true."

"Yeah. He's a good captain. MUCH better than that asshole we had before him. Remember that guy? He was riding everyone's asses over everything." Forest spit as though merely talking about the previous Alpha team captain left a bitter taste on his tongue. "God, sometimes I wished he'd get hit by a bus. Still do, actually, even though he's been gone for years."

"But do you think we helped the situation?"

"Whatcha mean, Jo?"

"You know, we were laughing about it, too, before all this happened."

"Yeah, but that's different. That was BEFORE this. We weren't trying to hurt the captain like these guys are. We were only laughing cuz we thought Chris was kidding about it. You know how rumors go. But if the captain really is gay, then this bullshit shouldn't be happening. I mean, damn, it's like he's suddenly not even human."

Footsteps exited the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind them. Oddly, Wesker was relieved about what he had just heard. He'd already known those two had his back, but it was just nice to hear it. He gave a dejected sigh as he left the stall that served both as his shelter and his source of anguish.

* * *

The next day, Wesker called in sick to the RPD as he went on his way to the Umbrella facility. He needed to do his work at Umbrella, he tried to convince himself, but he knew he was only heading there to escape whatever horrors lay in wait for him at the station, even if just for a mere twenty four hours.

He threw open his locker, shoving his face in as he packed away some stuff and adorned his lab coat, feeling ashamed and not wanting anyone to look at him. He almost expected the traumas from the RPD to have followed him there to Umbrella, but no. When he entered, he only got some pleasant good mornings from various staff members.

His sunglasses were removed and he rubbed a hand over his eyes, giving a stressed, tired exhale.

Sergei came down the hall, smiling to himself when he saw Wesker at his locker. He couldn't see his face due to the door obscuring it, but he could easily identify the blond.

"Comrade." He said brightly. "It's good to see you-" He stopped himself short when he noticed Wesker's shoulders jerk. He swore he thought he heard a muffled hiccup-like noise. His head tilted sideways as an inquisitive eyebrow shot up. "Comrade?"

A moment later, the locker door was slammed shut and Sergei felt arms abruptly wrap around his middle. He looked down, surprised, finding Wesker's face shoved into his chest, releasing uneven, muffled sobs into his army coat. Sergei was, simply put, baffled by it. He knew Wesker was not the type of man to shed even a single tear over anything and here he was, weeping piteously into his chest. Something was definitely wrong here.

Face twisted in concern, Sergei wrapped his arms around his subordinate, one hand running over slicked blond locks. He hushed the distressed man in his arms, saying to him delicately, "Это хорошо...Всё будет хорошо...Я здесь..."

Wesker had not a clue what Sergei was saying to him, but the way he spoke was comforting and he relished in that, clinging even more to the taller man as he soothed him in Russian.

"Comrade, what has you so upset?"

"T-They..." Wesker began quietly, trying his best to speak through his tears. How humiliating, breaking down into tears like a little child. "They won't stop..."

"Who? And what won't they stop?"

"I-I don't know who...At the RPD...they keep destroying my things...writing things about me..."

"What do they write?"

"Mostly...'f-faggot.'"

Sergei was rendered speechless. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. He had to have heard incorrectly, he must've. "I'm sorry, comrade, I didn't catch that."

In annoyance, as if Sergei weren't even listening to him, Wesker pulled his face - glaring - out of his chest and near-shouted, "Faggot! They keep calling me a faggot!" His harsh expression broke, replaced with one of despair, and he returned his face to Sergei's chest. "They make it clear they don't want the likes of me there...Clear that I...that it's completely wrong to be like that...God, I just feel like a disgrace for a human being and that everyone's against me..."

Surprised, Sergei slipped his hand under Wesker's chin and tilted his head up to look him in the face. He said softly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, "No, comrade, it's perfectly fine to be that way. The people responsible for this are just ignorant fools."

"No, I'M the fool. Nobody dared to mess with me before, but now...I'm the court jester. I'm no longer respected by my underlings. Some still revere me, but others...no..."

"It'll be alright, comrade..." Sergei cupped Wesker's moist cheek.

"Get away from me!" Wesker seethed, suddenly pushing himself away from Sergei. "I should be angry with you, seeing as this is YOUR fault in the first place!"

Stunned, Sergei sputtered, "M-My fault?"

"Yes! If you hadn't have told me you loved me in the first place, none of this would've happened! Ugh, I can't even think straight right now..." He re-opened his locker and snatched his sunglasses, placing them over his bloodshot orange eyes. "I'm going to the lab now. Don't bother following me." He stalked away, watched by a dismayed eye.

Sergei grit his teeth before he bawled his fist and threw it at one of the lockers, startling some passing employees and causing them to leave the scene hurriedly. Chris. It was all that Chris' fault. If he had just kept his big mouth shut that night, then Wesker wouldn't be like this. He would straighten that man out, though. He swore he would.

* * *

Poor Wesker. I really felt bad for him writing this chapter. :(

And for those of you wondering what, "Это хорошо...Всё будет хорошо...Я здесь..." means, it means something along the lines of, if I remember, "It's okay...Everything's gonna be alright...I'm here..."


	12. Confrontation

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 12: Confrontation

* * *

Chris had no idea what was about to hit him. As he said good bye to the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members at the RPD, giving a charming, boyish grin as he left, he hadn't any sort of clue what was about to take place.

He shrugged his jacket on, shivering faintly in the unmerciful night air, when he heard a noise. Weak, but still audible, it was a low, rumbling growl. He turned to the noise; a figure shrouded in the protective shadows cast by the police station.

Chris laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Forest, is that you trying to be funny? Huh?" He placed his hands on his hips. "Well, you're doing a shitty job at it."

"Guess again." The figure snarled, the thick accent fused in his voice undeniable.

Chris gave the man a glare as he stepped out of the shadows, his orderly army coat fluttering about his legs. His face was set in a scowl so deep and full of odium that even his ruined eye seemed to be sending the worst of dirty looks that a human could possibly make.

"What do you want?" The brunette tried to keep his voice from quaking, but there was a small trace of apprehension in it. There was not a man, woman, or thing in the world that could possibly scare him, but then Sergei came along and changed all of that. There was something about that man he dreaded, something he couldn't put his finger on but instinct told him it was there, blaring like a supernova to a blind man.

"What do I want?" Sergei repeated, chuckling. The maniacal, calculating undertones of it made Chris uneasy. "There is a lot that I want right now. I want to punch you, I want to stab you, I want to render you a sobbing, bloody, broken pulp on the ground." He took a step closer, causing Chris to step back. He kept inching closer, giving a toothy smirk when the S.T.A.R.S. member nearly jumped out of his skin as his back hit a wall.

"W-Why? What's your beef with me?"

"My 'beef?'" He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of Chris, lips peeling back over his teeth to reveal a nasty snarl. "I'll tell you..." His voice was but a noxious whisper. "The things I've heard..."

Brown eyes, wild with trepidation, stared at the one blue eye swimming with menace. "What have you heard?"

Sergei leaned in closer. "I've heard what's been going on around the police station. The notes, the writings in the bathroom, the carvings...I did not like what I heard. And Wesker...my God, it was horrible watching him suffer in my arms like that, but it was even worse when he put _me_ at fault for _your _doings and stormed off. I've come here, Redfield, to set things right."

Chris found the courage to bark, "You don't have the guts to do anything!" His reward for his bravery was a punch to his face, then another, and another. A fourth punch knocked him on the ground, lip busted and nose bleeding.

"_Boy_, you're going to regret EVER crossing me..." The Russian snarled before going at the S.T.A.R.S. member again.

* * *

When Wesker returned to the RPD for work, he was pleasantly surprised to find no negative attention was on him today. The happiness was short lived when he discovered why that was.

"My God, Chris!" He gasped, hurrying over to the brunette's desk where a few other S.T.A.R.S. members were gathered. "What happened to you?"

Bandages decorated his face, and a purplish-black cloud circled his right eye. His lip had a scar running vertically over it like a tiny, slim tongue. A hardened cast encircled his left wrist, which thankfully was his non-dominant hand.

"Some jerk jumped me when I left the station the other night." He shrugged. "It's no biggie, really."

The answer seemed a tad suspicious to Wesker. It just seemed...off, like Chris were hiding something. Did he actually know the attacker? This, Wesker seemed pretty sure of, so when he and Chris later had a moment alone together, he inquired on who had done the deed.

"It was that Vladimir guy." The Redfield confessed. "He did this to me."

"Sergei? _Sergei_ did this to you?"

Chris nodded. "He said it was all my fault you were getting messed with around here."

"God damn him..." Wesker sighed. "I'll have to have a word with him."

"No, it's fine. I-I deserved this."

"Pardon?" Wesker gave him an incredulous look.

"He was right. It is my fault all this happened."

"Oh, come now. You were drunk. You didn't know this would happen." The blond stood up. "I'm going to go get some work done and later, I'll go talk to Sergei about this."

As Wesker left, he heard Chris say to his back, "If you're actually together with that guy, I think you should break it off. The guy's a lunatic."

* * *

Wesker invited himself into his superior's office that evening, going off into a barrage of insults and questions before the Russian could even get a word in edgewise. By the time he was done, he was panting raggedly, glaring daggers at Sergei, who simply stared at him before sighing and standing up to walk around the desk and pause before him.

"Comrade," He began gingerly. "it was that foolish boy's fault for your current predicament, not I. I was merely making him atone for what he did."

Wesker snorted. "Chris was right. You ARE a lunatic."

"You do realize I wouldn't do this for anyone other than you, right?"

"I don't care."

"Comrade, why are you putting me at fault for this? All I did was care about you. He's the one who spread word and caused this. Had it not been for him, things would be different." He frowned as Wesker pretended not to listen to him. "Comrade, are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing _what_, per se?"

"When someone loves you, do you always push them away at some point?" He couldn't help but give a small, victorious smirk when he noticed the blond tense. "So, I've discovered the root of the problem. It has nothing to do with what I've done or what Redfield has done. It all has to do with you."

Wesker sighed. "You catch on quick." He sat on the edge of the desk. "When I was a little boy, I was very attached to my mother. She was all I had. I was an only child and my father walked out on her late in her pregnancy." He gave the faintest of smiles. "She was such a beautiful woman, and so strong, too, to be able to manage work and a child as easily as she did."

"Did something happen to her?" Sergei asked, treading carefully with the question.

"When I was around nine or ten, she was in a horrible car accident and passed away. It hurt so much back then, and even now sometimes. That was a pain I never wanted to experience again, so I made sure not to get too close to anyone. Sometimes, I did get too close and had no choice but to push the person away anyway I could." He gave a small chuckle. "I know, that probably sounds selfish of me."

"No, it doesn't. It's perfectly understandable."

Wesker continued. "But despite that rule in my nature, you've been an exception to that. I've wanted to get close to you even though I knew I was risking another dose of devastating hurt."

Sorrow etched on Sergei's face as he stooped down and took the sitting blond in his arms. "I'm grateful for that. Truly, I am."

Wesker returned the gesture, tucking his chin in the nook between Sergei's neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sergei. I don't want to push you away...Not now." He heard a warm chuckle in his ear before he felt Sergei pull away.

"You couldn't even if you wanted to, comrade."

"Why is that?"

"Ты нужен мне."

"What does that mean?"

"I need you..."

Wesker wrapped his arms around Sergei once more, holding tightly, desperately, like he would just vanish into thin air if he didn't. "Don't leave me, Sergei." He whispered, pleaded. "Oh, God, don't leave me..."

"I won't." The Russian promised, enfolding Wesker in a warm embrace. "I won't leave you. I'll never leave you." In a whisper, he added, "Я люблю Вас..."

* * *

Aww, sweet ending...to the chapter, I mean! The story's not done just yet. Either I'm gonna post one or two more chapters and that'll be it. ;p Poor Chris, Sergei beat the shit out of him. :( But hey, he did it out of love, so who can blame him?


	13. The Dying Bell Rings

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 13: The Dying Bell Rings

* * *

Sergei thoughtlessly filled out the various forms and papers that veiled a good portion of his desk, his mind somewhere else entirely, lost in a sea of drifting thoughts. It was near impossible for him to concentrate and his hand simply drove the pen on autopilot.

_'He told me not to leave him...' _He thought, contented yet displeased. _'But he hasn't said he loves me yet...Almost there, but not quite...'_

The hand released the pen it held captive, followed by a sigh. Leaning back, he turned the chair around to face the window where the plant sat, once tall and bright but now browning and drooping like a miniature weeping willow, looking more like a real bell with its collection of petals forming into a bell shape hanging downwards. If it was capable to, it probably would be crying from the lack of water and sunshine. Sergei rarely cracked open the venetian blinds hiding the window and a lot of the times, he simply forgot the plant was even there.

He thought back on what Wesker had told him a few days prior when he was leisurely hanging out in his office while he worked through his dreaded stack of paperwork.

_"It's a Bohemian Watercrest."_ The blond had told him. _"A very rare plant, very beautiful."_ He had taken one of the pale pink petals in his hand gingerly, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.

_"Why, yes, that's right, comrade."_ Sergei had sounded astonished. _"How did you know?"_

_"My mother loved these. They were always around the house when I was growing up. She took such good care of them."_

Sergei had felt a pang of guilt, perhaps a little embarrassment as well, at the last sentence, like it were aimed at him in a subtle scold.

The office chair creaked as the figure sitting in it arose. Sergei grabbed the water bottle sitting next to the plant on the sill, untouched for God knows how long, and twisted the cap off. He poured a decent amount into the soil, eye skimming over the plant deftly.

"I am sorry." He murmured, but to who, he did not know.

* * *

Wesker fished through his desk drawer, ignoring the new notes of hatred crumpled inside until he discovered what he was looking for. He pulled the small, discreet book out of the drawer and flipped it open, visiting various pages until he found the one he was looking for. He read, scrunching his brows as he did so. He kept trying to speak the words that lay before him, but all that came out was irresolute gibberish.

Forest glanced over in interest, wondering just what the captain was up to. That's all he'd been doing for the past week, maybe two; just reading that book and spewing nonsense as he did so. His curiosity had finally gotten the best of him and he sauntered over, asking, "Hey, Captain, what're you doing? You've been reading that book like you're addicted to it and talkin' all this gibberish for over a week now and I wanna know what's up."

"Learning." The blond stated simply.

"Learning what? How to weird your teammates out in ten minutes? You got your money's worth, then."

With a sigh sprinkled with annoyance, Wesker picked up the book, holding his place with his finger as he turned the cover to Forest. It was an English-Russian dictionary. "It's Russian. I'm learning Russian."

"Why? You going to Russia or somethin'?"

"No. I'm just learning some specific things. There's nothing better to do today considering how slow things are going."

"Yeah, I hear ya, Captain. Hey, could I look at that book when you're done with it?" To his surprise, the book was then held out to him.

"You can look at it now. I realize this is probably futile for me."

"Never say never, Captain." Forest sat himself down on the edge of the desk, making sure not to bump anything with his posterior, book in hand. "Wow, these don't even look like words," He commented casually. He looked at a random phrase and squinted slightly. "я люблю суп."

Wesker straightened up in his seat, astounded. "Speyer, how'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That sounded perfect, genuine."

Forest shrugged. "Eh, I took some Russian in high school. I don't remember shit except how to pronounce stuff."

"Could you help me with this, then? There's one phrase in particular I want to learn. I can't, for the life of me, get it right."

Forest gave a slight beam. "Well, sure, Captain. Like you said, there's nothing better to do."

"Thank you, Speyer. I really do appreciate it." Wesker took the book back and flipped through it until he gave a noise of accomplishment and handed the book back, finger grazing over a spot on the page. "That one."

Forest's eyebrow cocked up. "'Я люблю Вас?' 'I love you?' What do you wanna learn that one for?" He then smirked deviously. "Are you getting one of those mail-order Russian brides?" His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"Speyer...do you want to get fired?"

He gulped. "Sorry, sir." He grew suddenly grave and sat in silence for a second before asking quietly, "Is it that guy, Captain?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wesker replied, his voice soft, unconvincing.

"You know who." Forest said in a mock scold. "That guy who came to the RPD that one day. Had a really thick accent." He paused, the stillness awkward. "Captain Wesker...I know this isn't my place to ask, but...are you in love with that guy?"

The S.T.A.R.S. captain sighed, running his hand over his blond hair without conviction. Should he just fess up or profoundly deny it? He boldly made his decision, saying simply, "Yes."

Forest was quiet again, turning back and forth between the pages, unsure of what to say. Wesker also became wordless, gazing at his subordinate out of the corner of his eye. Had he said the wrong thing? Made the wrong call? Finally, with a dramatic sigh, Forest closed the book, placing it on his lap.

"Well, this kinda makes things worse, then." Forest spoke at last.

"And why is that?"

"Hel-LO, Captain. If you weren't...ya know, then the shit these assholes are saying about you wouldn't be as bad. I mean, you know, it's still pretty bad. But since you are, then they're ragging on you just because of what you are. Captain Wesker, hear me out when I say you need to one-up these fuckers."

The blond rested his chin in his palm, fiery orbs flicking over Forest's face with a dubious expression. "And how do I 'one-up' them, Speyer?"

"You...eh..." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Well, okay, I dunno, but you've gotta do something. If you do, these guys will stop messing with you because then they'll see they can't hurt you, know what I'm saying?"

"To me, it sounds like you do know what, and I know exactly what you're trying to say."

"What's that, then?"

"You're trying to tell me to confess my sexuality to the whole RPD. I tell you what, the day dogs sprout wings and fly, I'll do that." _'Careful, Albert. That may not be the wisest thing to say since dogs are a common specimen at Umbrella and only God knows what the experimental viruses will be capable of when they're perfected.'_

Forest raised his shoulders is a brief shrug. "Alright, Captain, whatever you say."

* * *

In the evening, the RPD stood lonely and empty, save for two people. Chris and Forest sat at Chris' cluttered desk, sharing stories and jokes and laughing at their corniness.

"So then I said-" Forest froze abruptly, staring at the door. His face gave no sign of fear, but rather taken by surprise in a most affable manner.

"What's wrong?" Chris turned. His eyes narrowed at the man now standing in the office doorway.

"Is Captain Wesker not here?" Sergei inquired, ineptly shifting the plant he held in his hands. The Bohemian Watercrest was as close to death as ever, but now the stem was adorned with a note tied around it like an elegant necklace hanging off the neck of an elderly, crippled woman who could no longer stand upright.

Forest shook his head. "He left half an hour ago. Whatcha need?"

"I, erm, I had something I needed to give him." He gestured with the plant.

"Well," Smirking brightly, Forest hopped off the desk and plucked the plant from Sergei's hands. "I'll set it on the desk and he can get it in the morning." He frowned as he looked at the flower. "Damn, this sucker doesn't look like it's gonna last much longer."

"Yes, I figured he could give it better attention than I."

Forest sat the potted plant on his captain's desk, nearly tipping it over in the process. He chuckled sheepishly as he turned back to their unexpected guest. "Sorry about that."

Sergei waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine." He left, sending Chris a brisk glare as he did so. Chris gladly returned the nasty scowl despite knowing he probably looked ridiculous doing it with some scars left over from his unfortunate encounter with Sergei.

"God damn that man..." The Redfield hissed under his breath.

Forest quirked a brow at him. "What'd ya say?"

"Nothing."

* * *

Wesker was, for once in weeks, pleased when he entered the S.T.A.R.S. office. The first thing he noticed when he walked in was the potted plant sitting on his desk, expiring but welcoming as well.

"He came by last night." Forest explained as his captain scanned over the plant behind his dark shades. "You weren't here, so I said he could leave it on the desk."

Wesker eagerly torn the note from the stem and read it. In a neat, unique scrawl, it said, _'This plant is dear to you as you are dear to me, so I would like for you to keep it. Take better care of it than I did. Love, Sergei.' _He couldn't help the miniscule smile that slipped onto his face as he closed the note and tucked it away in his breast pocket.

"Do I hear wedding bells?" Forest joked, elbowing his captain in the ribs.

"Oh, shut up, Speyer, and get back to work." The blond retorted with a snort, teasing plain in his tone.

Forest gave him a halfhearted salute. "Right-o, Captain."

Wesker ran a finger over one of the petals before leaving the office to get the plant some nourishment.

* * *

Nothing to say other than stay tuned for the next chapter! :D

Oh, and by the way, I made up the plant...At least I THINK I made it up. Watch how someone's gonna look it up and turns out there actually is a Bohemian Watercrest flower thingy, lol.

One more thing. The phrase Forest says is supposed to mean, 'I like soup.' XD


	14. Public Speaking

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

* * *

Chapter 14: Public Speaking

* * *

_'Oh, my God...'_

That was the only coherent thought Wesker's mind could form as he looked upon the mess on his desk. Soil and bits of broken, rust-colored pottery were scattered everywhere, giving the desk an appearance of a graveyard with its clay tombstones jutting upright from the dirt. How fitting, it seemed, for the crippled flower laying amongst the corpseless cemetery. It would have the honor of being the first body.

Wesker was speechless. He truly was. Speechless, confused, and numb. So many emotions ran through him that he just didn't feel anything, much like how so many colored lights coming together transform into a single beam of white light.

Forest watched over the scene from the back of the office with Chris and Joseph, furrowing his brows as his face flushed with a scarlet fever of enragement. Chris, while he despised the man who had given the gift of the dying flower to his captain, felt his blood boiling in his veins. The main thing was that Wesker, the man who had unintentionally garnered all of his admiration, had just been hit where it hurts and frankly, he just wanted to tear someone apart. Joseph looked between the two, confused on why they appeared so vexed. Yes, their captain had just been hurt once more - this time much more severely - and he wasn't pleased wither, but they were riled up more than the situation called necessary.

Hands cupped, Wesker scooped up the pale pink casualty laying on his desk along with some of the soil and shattered pot remains that served as its bedding. He turned around and strode out of the office without a word to anyone. Chris and Forest scurried after him, followed by Joseph and anyone else who was standing by in the S.T.A.R.S. office, wondering what Captain Wesker was up to and just how much blood the janitors would have to scrub off the walls when he was through.

The blond stopped in his tracks in a more spacious office area bustling with people, lips giving way to a fierce snarl, and asked loud enough for all in the vicinity to hear, "Who did this?" Eyes trained on him, but nobody said a word. Louder, he questioned. "WHO. DID. THIS?" Annoyance was evident on his face as he was still not answered and his fists clenched, forcing the broken pieces of pot to dig into his hands, making the shards go from their original painting of rust brown to blood with his own warm, vital paint. "God damn you all! Answer me!"

"Comrade?"

That voice. Oh, God, that voice. It was as much a blessing as it was something Wesker did not wish to hear at that moment. What would Sergei do when he saw what those horrid _people_, if they could even be called that, had done? Would he go berserk and beat the life out of everyone present, seeing as he did not know who committed the crime?

Wesker turned to Sergei, woe and apology etched on his face. Helplessly, he held up his bleeding hands for the Russian to see, not the blood but the Bohemian Watercrest, uttering a hushed, "I'm sorry..."

At the sight of the destroyed flower in Wesker's equally destroyed hands, Sergei's mind was instantaneously lost in a chaotic mess of fury. He couldn't express it, however, as much as he wanted to. Wesker had it bad enough as it was. He didn't need Sergei making things worse by getting pissed over the flower, thus bringing everyone to the correct conclusion that it was him who left it for Wesker and only proving to the whole RPD that the rumors of Wesker's sexuality were accurate.

Wesker could easily sense what Sergei was thinking because he had just been thinking the same thing. It evoked him of what Forest had told him the other day; confessing to everyone about his secret that wasn't treated as such around the station. That was quite a risk to take, but what more did he have to lose? Audibly sighing with defeat, he lowered his hands. He let the dirt and pottery slip from his fingers, keeping hold on the drooping flower.

"You're right." He said, not to one specific person, but to all. "All of you who have been spreading rumors about me...you're right." His voice was unusually nonchalant as he spoke. "I will confess. I am, indeed, gay." He paused, waiting to see what the majority's reaction would be. He heard a couple of quiet, sharp inhales, but nothing derogatory was expressed that he could see. "Now that you all know, I will also confess..." He pointed a finger at Sergei. "That man. I love that man."

Sergei's face softened considerably, his good eye flickering with a multitude of different emotions, but most prominent was joy and respite.

_'He said it...' _He unconsciously smiled. He came closer to Wesker, only stopping when he was standing right before him and requested imploringly, "Say it again, comrade. Please, say it again."

"I love you, Sergei." Wesker repeated the phrase more quietly, more influentially. Then he murmured, to Sergei's amazement, "Я люблю Вас."

"Oh, comrade..." The grey-haired man pulled the blond one into his arms, holding tightly, effortlessly forgetting they were in a crowded room full of judging, omnipresent eyes. The same could easily be said for Wesker as Sergei pressed their lips together much gingerly than he ever had before and Wesker readily returned the gesture.

Devious hoots and hollers came from most of Wesker's male subordinates, cheering their captain and encouraging him implicatively. The remaining male on the Alpha team was blatantly displeased, but he gave a small smile, anyway. Obviously, his captain and source of great affection was happy, therefore Chris was happy.

The pair finally pulled away, only because they required oxygen. Panting softly, they gazed at each other, their cheeks flushed with a crimson pallor.

"Comrade, I love you." Sergei whispered breathlessly.

"I love you, too." Wesker's lips twisted into a small smile.

"Come, comrade." Sergei cautiously took the shorter man's wrist in his hand, taking care not to brush against one of the many weeping lacerations, leading him over to the door. "I think you're done here for today. Plus, we need to fix your hands."

As they passed by, Forest gave his captain a wide beam while Chris sneered in Sergei's direction. Wesker gave a brief grin in return and Sergei looked rather conceited as he gave the Redfield a smirk.

And even as the front doors of the RPD closed, reverberating in the silence that was broken only by unanswered phones that whined for attention and a far off printer in the back corner, everyone was still quiet. Slowly, oh so slowly, the gears began to turn again and the people went back to work.

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One more chapter left. Just one more chapter left and it's over, people! How sad. :(


	15. Я люблю Вас

**Я люблю Вас**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Sergei!...Okay, fine, I don't own him. You people always have to crush my dreams, don't you?!

Summary: "It means...'I like you,' comrade. And I do; very much." Sergei/Wesker

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Chapter 15: Я люблю Вас

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"I'm telling you guys, it's true!"

"Speyer, you claim everything is true."

"Yeah, Forest, you can't believe everything you hear."

"Chris, Wesker, come ON! Doesn't it sound like it's for real?"

"No." Both of Forest's companions replied bluntly.

The trio were gathered around the table in the break room long after the majority went home, making small talk over cups of cooling coffee. Currently, Forest was speaking of a rumor that was going about; something about a car that ran on water rather than gas that would be released within the next five years. He truly was, Wesker decided, a sucker for rumors.

Within the past month since Wesker had, as he put it, made a fool of himself in front of the whole RPD, he and Chris had rekindled their friendship. Wesker had made him promise, though, that he would refrain from doing anything harmful to Sergei and Sergei would promise to hold back as well. He was hesitant, but Chris finally relented.

Things had gotten better in that time period as well. After Wesker had made his confession, those who were guilty of the attacks against him had come forth as well. They didn't confess so much as they had simply said they quit and left. Sergei had asked for the names of those who left, but Wesker didn't care about revenge. He was just glad they were gone. Those who remained were happy for Wesker, happy that the attacks would finally stop and also that he had found a - the girls had giggled schoolgirl-like at this - boyfriend.

Wesker's mood had increased dramatically as each day passed. No longer did he feel depressed and alone, instead he was content with everything. He'd begun to look forward to work at the RPD again, especially since now, he actually wanted to converse with his teammates, like Chris and Forest. Sometimes Joseph and Kenneth would join in on the conversations, making them even more interesting, if that were even possible seeing as Forest was already in on them.

A sharp rap on the doorframe and a rough sound that was of a throat being cleared signaled the attention of the three men. Sergei leaned against the doorframe, sending a pleasant, affectionate smirk in Wesker's direction.

Wesker grabbed his discarded jacket and stood, shrugging on the article of clothing. "I have to go, you two. I apologize."

"Aww, come on, Captain." Forest whined, frowning. "Can't you stay for a few more minutes?"

The captain's shoulders jerked up in a helpless shrug. "Sorry. I'll see you two Thursday."

"Thursday? You're not gonna be here tomorrow?" With a sudden realization, Forest flashed his teeth with a mischievous grin and he wiggled his dark eyebrows. "Oh, I see why..." He snickered.

"It's not what you think." That was true. Wesker was scheduled to be at the Umbrella laboratory the following day. He was also due to the lab in just a few minutes. Insane, yes, but he really wanted to catch up on the research progress. Thinking about it, the S.T.A.R.S. captain truly did begin to feel remorseful about why he was even at the police station in the first place; merely to gather information for Umbrella. With his new bonds with various subordinates, his task as a double agent was becoming a grueling transgression. He was only able to continue by the thought that when Umbrella was in complete control, Sergei would be there on top with him. Perhaps he'd get over such betrayal in the future when all was said and done.

Forest gave Wesker a curt wave as the blond made to leave. "See ya, Captain."

"Bye, Wesker." Chris' voice gave off the feeling of pleasance, but the scowl he was giving Sergei said otherwise.

Laying his hand gingerly on the small of Wesker's back to give him a docile push out of the room, Sergei sent the glare back, parting one end of his lips to show his teeth before leaving.

* * *

Smilingly eagerly, Birkin scribbled down notes with a quick hand, watching the specimen behind the two-way mirror with an almost child-like fascination. His features were brightened by the light coming through the mirror like an unfelt breeze, the only other sources of light were the tanks in back, their waters bubbling and casting a dim glow colored with a soft hue of purple on the floor.

"Brilliant...brilliant." He murmured to himself as he watched the animal, a dog, pace around the empty white room. Its flesh had deteriorated to the point where it literally looked like walking road kill. It was vile, it was appalling...it was perfect. "Wesker, I think we're making process beautifully."

"Yes." Wesker nodded absentmindedly as he took his place next to Birkin, his hands shoved in his pockets casually as he observed the mutant canine beginning to wildly gallop about the room, throwing its head every which way as it screamed in an inorganic fashion and snarling viciously so that the sharp pearls in its mouth could be viewed by all. Wesker's face contorted in concern and puzzlement. "What's it doing?"

"Oh, not to worry. They all do that before they completely lose their minds to the virus. When we tweak with the virus some more, this transition from a living, breathing creature to a thoughtless killing machine will take less time."

"That's good to hear." Wesker said, stifling a yawn with his hand.

Birkin leisurely glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late. You've done enough for tonight. I can take it solo for a while."

"Are you sure?"

Birkin nodded. "Yes, it's perfectly fine. Go on home." He turned back to the two-way mirror, jotting down more notes. The specimen suddenly thrust its whole being at the mirror, startling the scientist at such a magnitude that he jumped.

Wesker made his leave, chuckling and wishing Birkin a good night, to which the other blond answered in a shaken tone, "Good night."

Wesker deposited his things in his locker, giving his hair a brief combing with his fingers before heading to Sergei's office. Opening the door, he discovered the Russian slaving over another pile of paperwork. No surprise there.

Sergei looked up, giving his subordinate a warm smile before setting his pen down and standing up. "I didn't think you were ever leaving that lab."

"I know." He suddenly added, pointing with a finger, "Oh, you forgot something."

"Hmm?" Sergei's eye followed the direction of the digit, chuckling almost sheepishly when his gaze fixed on the aforementioned object. "Right. I apologize." He grabbed the water bottle off the window sill and twisted the cap off before giving the Bohemian Watercrest a generous amount of liquid.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, the flower that had been left for dead on the liter of soil and pot shards on Wesker's desk was given new life. With proper care and strict instructions from Wesker, Sergei had nursed the bell-like flower back to health.

_"I think it would make for a better recovery in your office seeing as it has a window. Keep the blinds open from now on."_ The S.T.A.R.S. captain had told him.

In its new pot of teal, the plant stood tall and firm, stems and leaves vibrantly greened and crinkled petals now silky and of a deliciously pink pallor.

"I get off early tomorrow." Wesker mentioned casually. "What do you want to do when my shift's over?"

"Oh, I think you know what..." A deep, rumbling chuckle left Sergei's throat as he stood in front of Wesker, placing his hands on the wall by either side of him, trapping him. He leaned in close, lips upturned in a telltale smirk.

"No, I'm naive. Tell me." As he spoke, Wesker slipped his arms around Sergei's torso. He gave a small, toothy smile, bringing himself closer to Sergei until their noses were mere millimeters apart.

Sergei brought his lips to Wesker's ear, his warm breath ghosting pleasantly over the skin. Lips brushing the shell of his ear, he whispered, "Comrade, I am going to fuck you senseless..."

Wesker voiced his appeasement with a subtle moan rising from his throat, muffled by his closed lips. "It sounds as though you want to right now..."

"Yes, I do." Sergei pulled away from the ear only to plant his lips on Wesker's, taking things at a much slower, mellower pace than usual. They had plenty of time, after all.

Wesker sighed gratifyingly into the kiss. A phrase formed on his lips, escaping his mouth with his breath; a phrase that Sergei could listen to over and over again like a broken record and he would never tire of it.

"Я люблю Вас..."

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The end, whee! :D Well, I'm almost kinda sad cuz, ya know, it's the end and all. OMG, this has to be the first story I've ever written that I completed in a short period of exactly two weeks. Like, wow. :O

I thank you all for taking the time to read this and leaving such kind reviews. You rock! :D


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